"There," cried Jackson, closing the book and rising, "that'll do. Most of the vessels lying in the river were driven from their moorings, dashed tumultuously against each other, or blown ashore. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall.
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