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Various

"The Best Short Stories of 1921 and the Yearbook of the American Short Story"

He was the only calm object on earth, sea or
sky; against the lashing rain, the dancing boats, the scudding clouds,
the hurried shadows of appearing and vanishing men, he stood out
plainly, a different essence, a higher spirit, the embodiment of mind
and will.
"And how was it with Wilbur, off there in the lead? He, too, walked
stiffly, wrapped in thought. Once he turned, as if to come back and
speak to us; then whirled with a violent movement of decision and
plunged on into the rain. He knew, now, what it was all about, if not
what to expect. He knew that his crime had been discovered. Yet he had
made no break; in no particular had he given himself away. What had he
decided? What had he been about to say? Would he confess, when he faced
death on the water; or would he be confident enough to believe that he
could beat the game?
"Observing his broad back, his commanding figure, that looked thoroughly
at home in its oilskin coat and leaning against the storm, it came to me
that he would put up a desperate defense before he succumbed. He, too,
was a strong man, and no part of a coward; he, too, in a different way,
was a superior being, the embodiment of mind and will.
"Then, for a moment, my own spirit went slump with the realization of
what lay before us, and a great weakness overcame me.


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