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Conrad, Joseph, 1857-1924

"A Tale Of The Forecastle"

--"He lies," gasped Wait, "he talked
about black devils--he is a devil--a white devil--I am all right."
He stiffened himself, and Mr. Baker, experimentally, let him go. He
staggered a pace or two; Captain Allistoun watched him with a quiet and
penetrating gaze; Belfast ran to his support. He did not appear to
be aware of any one near him; he stood silent for a moment, battling
single-handed with a legion of nameless terrors, amidst the eager
looks of excited men who watched him far off, utterly alone in the
impenetrable solitude of his fear. The sea gurgled through the scuppers
as the ship heeled over to a short puff of wind.
"Keep him away from me," said James Wait at last m his fine baritone
voice, and leaning with all his weight on Belfast's neck. "I've been
better this last week:... I am well... I was going back to duty...
to-morrow--now if you like--Captain." Belfast hitched his shoulders to
keep him upright.
"No," said the master, looking at him, fixedly. Under Jimmy's armpit
Belfast's red face moved uneasily. A row of eyes gleaming stared on the
edge of light. They pushed one another with elbows, turned their heads,
whispered.


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