Moby-Dick
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A raw November in Manhattan, and your feet keep carrying you back to the water. You play Ishmael, low on money and patience, who buys the cheapest ticket leaving tonight and reaches New Bedford in sleet, among tar and stored whale oil. The inn is kept by a man named Coffin. You get the last of the chowder; the only bed left is half of one, and its other half belongs to a harpooneer named Queequeg, currently out. Then heavy steps stop beneath the swinging sign.
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- LoomingsManhattan to New Bedford