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Dead Men Tell No Tales | E. W. Hornung | |
Chapter II The Mysterious Cargo |
Page 1 of 7 |
It was young Ready's hollow voice, as cool, however, as though he "You're joking," was my first thought and utterance; for now he was lighting my candle, and blowing out the match with a care that seemed in itself a contradiction. "I wish I were," he answered. "Listen to that!" He pointed to my cabin ceiling; it quivered and creaked; and all at once I was as a deaf man healed. One gets inured to noise at sea, but to this day it passes me how even I could have slept an instant in the abnormal din which I now heard raging above my head. Sea-boots stamped; bare feet pattered; men bawled; women shrieked; shouts of terror drowned the roar of command. "Have we long to last?" I asked, as I leaped for my clothes. "Long enough for you to dress comfortably. Steady, old man! It's only just been discovered; they may get it under. The panic's the worst part at present, and we're out of that." But was Eva Denison? Breathlessly I put the question; his answer was reassuring. Miss Denison was with her step-father on the poop. "And both of 'em as cool as cucumbers," added Ready. |
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Dead Men Tell No Tales E. W. Hornung |
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