A man’s children nowadays are not his own. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea. "Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation. To his astonishment and delight it yielded to the pressure, toppled over the ledge, and sank. Towards this box Sharples directed his steps, and, unlocking a hatch in the door, disclosed a recess scarcely as large, and certainly not as clean, as a dog-kennel. Simply. Come along, my Newgate bird!" he continued, shaking him with great violence.
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