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James, Henry, 1843-1916

"The Patagonia"

Peck, to sit at his table--and had
observed with pleasure that his seamanship had the grace, not universal
on the Atlantic liners, of a fine-weather manner.
"They don't waste much time--your friends in there," he said, nodding in
the direction in which he had seen me looking.
"Ah well, they haven't much to lose."
"That's what I mean. I'm told _she_ hasn't."
I wanted to say something exculpatory, but scarcely knew what note to
strike. I could only look vaguely about me at the starry darkness and
the sea that seemed to sleep. "Well, with these splendid nights and this
perfect air people are beguiled into late hours."
"Yes, we want a bit of a blow," the Captain said.
I demurred. "How much of one?"
"Enough to clear the decks!"
He was after all rather dry and he went about his business. He had made
me uneasy, and instead of going below I took a few turns more. The other
walkers dropped off pair by pair--they were all men--till at last I was
alone. Then after a little I quitted the field. Jasper and his
companion were still behind their lifeboat. Personally I greatly
preferred our actual conditions, but as I went down I found myself
vaguely wishing, in the interest of I scarcely knew what, unless it had
been a mere superstitious delicacy, that we might have half a gale.


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