This did not mean that one did not want to live. Oh no!
He spoke with careless slowness, pausing frequently and in such a low
voice that Powell had to strain his hearing to catch the phrases dropped
overboard as it were. And indeed they seemed not worth the effort. It
was like the aimless talk of a man pursuing a secret train of thought far
removed from the idle words we so often utter only to keep in touch with
our fellow beings. An hour passed. It seemed as though Mr. Smith could
not make up his mind to go below. He repeated himself. Again he spoke
of lives which one was ashamed of. It was necessary to put up with such
lives as long as there was no way out, no possible issue. He even
alluded once more to mail-boat services on the East coast of Africa and
young Powell had to tell him once more that he knew nothing about them.
"Every fortnight, I thought you said," insisted Mr. Smith. He stirred,
seemed to detach himself from the rail with difficulty. His long,
slender figure straightened into stiffness, as if hostile to the
enveloping soft peace of air and sea and sky, emitted into the night a
weak murmur which Mr.
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