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Rh the head to her bosom, murmuring an incoherent jumble of love-cries.

Three squares up the Main Street and one turn to the right, Pushbutton Pete was taking his seat in the launch. With its cocky "put, put, put," the little boat moved on its course towards the steam yacht.

Pete wiped the sweat from his ugly scarred features, shifted the lump to the other cheek, and handed over a yellow paper.

"I used some of that there discretion you was tellin' about, Cap," he said.