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... might end their days in some marsh-dyke. It was desirable that someone well
known in our parts should see them to the seashore. A boat, there, was to take
them out into the bay, where an outward-bound West Indiaman would pick them
And then old Rangsley hove to, to wait for the ship, and sat half asleep, lurching
over the tiller. He was a very unreliable scoundrel. The boat leaked like a sieve.
The wind freshened, and we three began to ask ourselves how it was going to ...
At last, well out, a blue gleam caught our eyes; but by this time old Rangsley was
helpless, and it fell to me to manage the boat. Carlos was of no use — he knew it,
and, without saying a word, busied himself in bailing the water out. But Castro, I ...
Our boat went down under us whilst I was tying a rope under Carlos' arms. He
was standing up with the baler still in his hand. On board, the women passengers
were screaming, and as I clung desperately to the rope that was thrown me, ...
Queer-looking boats crawled between the shores like tiny water beetles. One
headed out towards us, then another. I did not want them to reach us. It was a^ if I
did not wish my solitude to be disturbed, and I was* not pleased with the idea of ...
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LibraryThing ReviewUser Review - ToddSherman - LibraryThing
“And on this ghostly sigh, on this breath, with the feeble click of beads in the nun’s hands, a silence fell upon the room, vast as the stillness of a world of unknown faiths, loves, beliefs, of ... Read full review