Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of the well. The truth was impossible, indecent. 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. His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright. But you’ve got to lend me forty pounds. ” Chapter XXXII SIX MONTHS AFTER Up the moss-grown path, where the rose bushes run wild, almost met, came Anna in a spotless white gown, with the flush of her early morning walk in her cheeks, and something of the brightness of it in her eyes. Maybe it’s his loss. But there was something else; and in his befogged mental state the comparison eluded him. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out.
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