‘You keep a-hold of him,’ Trodger ordered his men. Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn. “I cannot part with you. I'm one of those unfortunate duffers who have too much imagination—the kind who build their own chimeras and then run away from them. Then the incredible happened. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him.
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