The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. ‘I just don’t understand you, Gerald. “I hope nothing is wrong. There is turmoil, shouts, cries, jostlings, milling congestions that suddenly break and flow in opposite directions. I’m anxious, joyfully anxious, like a man when he has found a treasure. His eyes closed.
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