" "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. What is he—English or American?" "American. ’ ‘Well, but he was a deserter, you see. How came you, Sir," he continued, addressing Sheppard, "to venture upon that frame. We are going to have this chap writing books one of these days. “I’ll never be happy again! I hate you! But most of all, what you have made me! A flesh-eating demon cannibal, just like you! I should be dead, dead and lying at the bottom of the sea. But between us, we'll have him writing books some day. A stiff, formally-cut coat of cinnamon-coloured cloth, with rows of plate buttons, each of the size of a crown piece, on the sleeves, pockets, and skirts, reached the middle of his legs; and his costume was completed by the silver-hilted sword at his side, and the laced hat under his left arm.
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