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Conrad, Joseph, 1857-1924

"A Tale Of The Forecastle"

Sorry for him--like
you would be for a sick brute. If ever creature was in a mortal funk
to die! ... I thought I would let him go out in his own way. Kind of
impulse. It never came into my head, those fools.... H'm! Stand to it
now--of course." He stuck the belaying-pin in his pocket, seemed ashamed
of himself, then sharply:--"If you see Podmore at his tricks again tell
him I will have him put under the pump. Had to do it once before. The
fellow breaks out like that now and then. Good cook tho'." He walked
away quickly, came back to the companion. The two mates followed him
through the starlight with amazed eyes. He went down three steps, and
changing his tone, spoke with his head near the deck:--"I shan't turn in
to-night, in case of anything; just call out if... Did you see the eyes
of that sick nigger, Mr. Baker? I fancied he begged me for something.
What? Past all help. One lone black beggar amongst the lot of us, and
he seemed to look through me into the very hell. Fancy, this wretched
Podmore! Well, let him die in peace. I am master here after all. Let
him be. He might have been half a man once... Keep a good look-out.


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