The pilot was still on board,
who gave him first a silent glance, and then passed an insignificant
remark before resuming his lounging to and fro between the steering wheel
and the binnacle. Powell took his station modestly at the break of the
poop. He had noticed across the skylight a head in a grey cap. But
when, after a time, he crossed over to the other side of the deck he
discovered that it was not the captain's head at all. He became aware of
grey hairs curling over the nape of the neck. How could he have made
that mistake? But on board ship away from the land one does not expect
to come upon a stranger.
Powell walked past the man. A thin, somewhat sunken face, with a tightly
closed mouth, stared at the distant French coast, vague like a suggestion
of solid darkness, lying abeam beyond the evening light reflected from
the level waters, themselves growing more sombre than the sky; a stare,
across which Powell had to pass and did pass with a quick side glance,
noting its immovable stillness. His passage disturbed those eyes no more
than if he had been as immaterial as a ghost.
Pages:
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440