At night she would turn it in her fingers like a rosary bead. Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. The blow was scarcely dealt, when, with a bound like that of a tiger, Blueskin sprang upon him. Soon the trunk, portmanteau and hat box were ready.
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