'Squire,' said he, 'when Dance has had his ale he must, of course, be off on his Majesty's service; but I mean to keep Jim Hawkins here to sleep at my house, and with your permission, I propose we should have up the cold pie and let him sup.'

'Pirate? I have old scores to settle with him for breaking his parole.'

'Black Dog!' said he, 'Aye, Black Dog,' says I. 'Who else?' was his reply.

'Oxen and wain-ropes would not bring me back again to that accursed island.'

'There is neither catch nor bolt on the inside of the house for anyone to draw.'

'Dead men don't bite', says he. It was most pitiful, that last expiring spout.

'There's no harm in a forecastle hand learning to talk a bit; they never was one of us yet that starved to death.'

'Ah, there's Jim Hawkins, shouting and running. Somebody's after him.'

'Sir, with no intention to take offence, I deny your right to put words into my mouth.'

Treasure Island