He jumped out of the car. "It's all up, master," groaned Ben, "nothin' short of a merracle can save us. On their left the river, with its gloomy pile of buildings on the opposite side, and a huge revolving advertisement throwing its strange reflection upon the black water. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. It slipped out—as did that “she”. "Jack Sheppard's fingers are lime-twigs. With people of that sort all sorts of things may happen.
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