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"""There she lays, in the Channel off the Boulder Bank,"" whispered the old man, pointing to the privateer, dull-black against the glitter. ""And it's my belieft there's not a sober man aboard of her. All stow'd away dead drunk under hatches--that's my belieft, sir. They kep it up from dark till midnight--dancin, drummin, fightin, and all manner. More like a cage full? wild beasties from Bedlam than a Christian ship. And for the last hour she might ha been a hulk full o corpuses.
"
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