“And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. While he was filling his pockets with golden coin from this store, Blueskin had pulled the plate-chest from under the bed, and having forced it open, began filling a canvass bag with its contents,—silver coffee-pots, chocolate-dishes, waiters trays, tankards, goblets, and candlesticks. ” “That’s rather a fine sort of holiday!” He made no answer for three or four seconds.
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