It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. It was a dark mysterious place, and what it was used for no one exactly knew; but it was called by those who had seen it the Well Hole. Here, Jem, take the gentleman's horse to the stable—see him dressed and fed directly. She thought of how much she wanted to eat the foods she had once feasted on that now smelled as innocuous as spring flowers.
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