I couldn't very well
shove them on one side. Devil only knows what was up between them. There
she was, pale as death, talking to him very fast. He got as red as a
turkey-cock--dash me if he didn't. A bad-tempered old bloke, I can tell
you. And a bad lot, too. Never mind. I couldn't hear what she was
saying to him, but she put force enough into it to shake her. It
seemed--it seemed, mind!--that he didn't want to go on board. Of course
it couldn't have been that. I know better. Well, she took him by the
arm, above the elbow, as if to lead him, or push him rather. I was
standing not quite ten feet off. Why should I have gone away? I was
anxious to get back on board as soon as they would let me. I didn't want
to overhear her blamed whispering either. But I couldn't stay there for
ever, so I made a move to get past them if I could. And that's how I
heard a few words. It was the old chap--something nasty about being
"under the heel" of somebody or other. Then he says, "I don't want this
sacrifice." What it meant I can't tell. It was a quarrel--of that I am
certain.
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