And he went on to talk about his
ship being laid up for a month and dismantled for repairs. The worst was
that on arriving in London he found he couldn't get the rooms he was used
to, where they made him as comfortable as such a confirmed sea-dog as
himself could be anywhere on shore.
In the effort to subdue by dint of talking and to keep in check the
mysterious, the profound attraction he felt already for that delicate
being of flesh and blood, with pale cheeks, with darkened eyelids and
eyes scalded with hot tears, he went on speaking of himself as a
confirmed enemy of life on shore--a perfect terror to a simple man, what
with the fads and proprieties and the ceremonies and affectations. He
hated all that. He wasn't fit for it. There was no rest and peace and
security but on the sea.
This gave one a view of Captain Anthony as a hermit withdrawn from a
wicked world. It was amusingly unexpected to me and nothing more. But
it must have appealed straight to that bruised and battered young soul.
Still shrinking from his nearness she had ended by listening to him with
avidity.
Pages:
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348