Lucky Jack at breakfast

Captain Aubrey’s face, though pink and freshly shaved, showed marks of a long active anxious night; it was comparatively thin, and he was setting about his meal with a wolfish appetite. ‘There you are, Stephen,’ he cried. ‘Good morning to you. I did not look to see you yet awhile, and I am sorry to say I have ate the last of the bacon. The dish was empty before I was aware.’ ‘It is always the same old squalid tale,’ said Stephen. ‘May I at least hope there is a tint of coffee left?’


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