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Conrad, Joseph, 1857-1924

"A Tale Of The Forecastle"

He has something in his mind. Look
out--say! I know 'em!" With eyes fixed in front he turned his head from
right to left, from left to right, as if inspecting a long row of
astute skippers.--"'Ee said 'ee would brain me!" cried Donkin in a
heartrending tone. Singleton peered downwards with puzzled attention,
as though he couldn't find him.--"Damn you!" he said, vaguely, giving it
up. He radiated unspeakable wisdom, hard unconcern, the chilling air
of resignation. Round him all the listeners felt themselves somehow
completely enlightened by their disappointment, and mute, they lolled
about with the careless ease of men who can discern perfectly the
irremediable aspect of their existence. He, profound and unconscious,
waved his arm once, and strode out on deck without another word.
Belfast was lost in a round-eyed meditation. One or two vaulted heavily
into upper berths, and, once there, sighed; others dived head first
inside lower bunks--swift, and turning round instantly upon themselves,
like animals going into lairs. The grating of a knife scraping burnt
clay was heard. Knowles grinned no more. Davis said, in a tone of ardent
conviction: "Then our skipper's looney.


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