His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. "In the devil's name, is that you, Jack!" ejaculated Kneebone. "Raise your vice, and lave off coughin'," added Terence. Even now, during the recurring doubts of the future, the thought of the island was repellent.
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