"Yes, sir."
"How is the weather?"
"Clearing away fast, sir," answered the marine—"and the sea is greatly gone down."
"Very well, let them trim by the commodore, do you hear—keep way with him, but no more; Sir Oliver likes no one to run past him—tell Mr Peak so."
"I will, sir."
"Now, good-night, Brail—good-night, Dennis, dear."
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