During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. "I don't know what I think," Wood answered sulkily; and he bent his eyes upon the water, as if he wished to avert his attention forcibly from the scene. "You hear that," cried Mrs. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. They were his friends, and they recognized his unusual earnestness.
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