She kicked him in the shin, trying to knock him off his feet. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. He impetuously grasped a hold of her hand, looking for a callous. The skipper, Van Galgebrok, affirmed to me,—nay, gave me the additional testimony of two of his crew,—that he was thrown overboard. It was on the eve of that memorable rebellion which broke forth, two months later, in Scotland. Too late she realised that Emile was not trying to escape.
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