Plote was sleeping or deaf. He perceived clearly enough, that the chase was moving quickly; and he was also aware, from the increased rapidity with which the oars were urged, that every exertion was made on board to get out of the reach of her pursuers. A brief feeling of empathy with Pottiswick passed through him. It was common name, so I was thrown off the scent. "In Heaven's name! what's all this?" cried Wood. He could lose himself for hours at a time.
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