Морський вовк

Chapter 32

           Whatfreakoffortunehadbroughtitherehereofallspots?whatchanceofchances?Ilookedatthebleak,inaccessiblewallatmybackandknowtheprofundityofdespair.Escapewashopeless,outofthequestion.IthoughtofMaud,asleepthereinthehutwehadreared;Irememberedher"Good-night,Humphrey";"mywoman,mymate,"wentringingthroughmybrain,butnow,alas,itwasaknellthatsounded.Theneverythingwentblackbeforemyeyes.

           Possiblyitwasthefractionofasecond,butIhadnoknowledgeofhowlonganintervalhadlapsedbeforeIwasmyselfagain.TherelaytheGhost,bowontothebeach,hersplinteredbowspritprojectingoverthesand,hertangledsparsrubbingagainsthersidetotheliftofthecrooningwaves.Somethingmustbedone,mustbedone.

           Itcameuponmesuddenly,asstrange,thatnothingmovedaboard.Weariedfromthenightofstruggleandwreck,allhandswereyetasleep,Ithought.MynextthoughtwasthatMaudandImightyetescape.Ifwecouldtaketotheboatandmakeroundthepointbeforeanyoneawoke?Iwouldcallherandstart.Myhandwasliftedatherdoortoknock,whenIrecollectedthesmallnessoftheisland.Wecouldneverhideourselvesuponit.Therewasnothingforusbutthewiderawocean.Ithoughtofoursnuglittlehuts,oursuppliesofmeatandoilandmossandfirewood,andIknewthatwecouldneversurvivethewintryseaandthegreatstormswhichweretocome.

           SoIstood,withhesitantknuckle,withoutherdoor.Itwasimpossible,impossible.

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