"Captain Darren," he added, sternly, "you shall hear from me. Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day. "Sir Rowland is murdered!" cried Jack, as soon as he could find a tongue.
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