Raising the bowl in his right hand, Jack glanced towards the balcony, in which the group of ladies were seated, and begged to drink their healths; he then turned to Kneebone and the others, who extended their hands towards him, and raised it to his lips. Henry Clay, thirteen cents in Hong-Kong and two-bits in that dear old New York. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously.
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