Sniveling brats, little fatherless bastards, you should breathe a sigh of relief. You observe that I am, as usual, fairly cheerful, and moderately amiable. Ah Cum was not a sailor, but he knew his water-front. He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room. I wrenched this off, and in an envelope addressed to me in faded ink, I found the locket and the pearls.
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