Дэвид Копперфильд

Tempest

           Iunderstoodhimtoaddthatshewaspartingamidships,andIcouldreadilysupposeso,fortherollingandbeatingweretootremendousforanyhumanworktosufferlong.Ashespoke,therewasanothergreatcryofpityfromthebeach;fourmenarosewiththewreckoutofthedeep,clingingtotheriggingoftheremainingmast;uppermost,theactivefigurewiththecurlinghair.

           Therewasabellonboard;andastheshiprolledanddashed,likeadesperatecreaturedrivenmad,nowshowingusthewholesweepofherdeck,assheturnedonherbeam-endstowardstheshore,nownothingbutherkeel,asshesprungwildlyoverandturnedtowardsthesea,thebellrang;anditssound,theknellofthoseunhappymen,wasbornetowardsusonthewind.Againwelosther,andagainsherose.Twomenweregone.Theagonyontheshoreincreased.Mengroaned,andclaspedtheirhands;womenshrieked,andturnedawaytheirfaces.Someranwildlyupanddownalongthebeach,cryingforhelpwherenohelpcouldbe.Ifoundmyselfoneofthese,franticallyimploringaknotofsailorswhomIknew,nottoletthosetwolostcreaturesperishbeforeoureyes.

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