The candle was shaking in his hand as Ruth appeared in the doorway. She observed the tides, amazed by how high the water could rise, almost touching the tops of the cliffs. "Wet your whistle before you start, Jack," said Kneebone, pouring out a glass of ale. Come. He did not like it, he said, with a significant look, to be reminded of either his books or his dinners after he had done with them.
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