Stones and brickbats were showered on all sides, and Mr. A little Cockney recovered it, and made ridiculous attempts to get to her and replace it. She played “Happy Birthday” for John, after which they plied her with a dozen requests. “Oh, John, please!” “You are already leaving me. ‘This idiotic female—’ ‘This imbecile has made me—’ ‘—made me lose my temper, and I—’ ‘—cut him with my dagger, and he is—’ ‘—damn near slit her throat!’ ‘—bleeding like a pig!’ ‘Whoa, whoa!’ stormed the captain, starting forward. ‘That’s why I’m asking. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved. ‘There is little I can do at present.
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