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I. Tidings of the Comer

           Theairwasstill,andwhileshelingeredamomentherealonesoundsofvoicesinconversationcametoherearsdirectlydownthechimney.Sheenteredtherecess,and,listening,lookeduptheoldirregularshaft,withitscavernoushollows,wherethesmokeblunderedaboutonitswaytothesquarebitofskyatthetop,fromwhichthedaylightstruckdownwithapallidglareuponthetattersofsootdrapingtheflueasseaweeddrapesarockyfissure.

           Sheremembered:thefurze-stackwasnotfarfromthechimney,andthevoiceswerethoseoftheworkers.

           Hergrandfatherjoinedintheconversation.“Thatladoughtnevertohavelefthome.Hisfather’soccupationwouldhavesuitedhimbest,andtheboyshouldhavefollowedon.Idon’tbelieveinthesenewmovesinfamilies.Myfatherwasasailor,sowasI,andsoshouldmysonhavebeenifIhadhadone.”

           “Theplacehe’sbeenlivingatisParis,”saidHumphrey,“andtheytellme’tiswheretheking’sheadwascutoffyearsago.Mypoormotherusedtotellmeaboutthatbusiness.’Hummy,’sheusedtosay,’Iwasayoungmaidthen,andasIwasathomeironingMother’scapsoneafternoontheparsoncameinandsaid,“They’vecuttheking’sheadoff,Jane;andwhat’twillbenextGodknows."’”

           “AgoodmanyofusknewaswellasHebeforelong,”saidthecaptain,chuckling.“Ilivedsevenyearsunderwateronaccountofitinmyboyhood—inthatdamnedsurgeryoftheTriumph,seeingmenbroughtdowntothecockpitwiththeirlegsandarmsblowntoJericho....AndsotheyoungmanhassettledinParis.

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