’ ‘Well, don’t blame me if you get your head blown off. He was now almost driven to despair. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. The man looked closely at Anna as she crossed the footway, and as he held her skirt from the wheel he pressed something into her hand. Anna went out. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded.
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