"
Mr. Powell answered in the affirmative, wondering if this were a friendly
overture. He had noticed that Mr. Smith's eyes had a sort of inward look
as though he had disliked or disdained his surroundings. The captain's
wife had disappeared then down the companion stairs. Mr. Smith said
'Ah!' and waited a little longer to put another question in his incurious
voice.
"And did you know the man who was here before you?"
"No," said young Powell, "I didn't know anybody belonging to this ship
before I joined."
"He was much older than you. Twice your age. Perhaps more. His hair
was iron grey. Yes. Certainly more."
The low, repressed voice paused, but the old man did not move away. He
added: "Isn't it unusual?"
Mr. Powell was surprised not only by being engaged in conversation, but
also by its character. It might have been the suggestion of the word
uttered by this old man, but it was distinctly at that moment that he
became aware of something unusual not only in this encounter but
generally around him, about everybody, in the atmosphere. The very sea,
with short flashes of foam bursting out here and there in the gloomy
distances, the unchangeable, safe sea sheltering a man from all passions,
except its own anger, seemed queer to the quick glance he threw to
windward where the already effaced horizon traced no reassuring limit to
the eye.
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