,
glimmering white in the darkness, his elbows on his knees and his
head in his hands. In a moment he had concealed his damp body
in a sleeping suit of the same gray-stripe pattern as the one
I was wearing and followed me like my double on the poop.
Together we moved right aft,
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"What is it?" I asked in a deadened voice, taking the lighted lamp
out of the binnacle, and raising it to his face.
"An ugly business."
He had rather regular features; a good mouth; light eyes under
somewhat heavy, dark eyebrows; a smooth, square forehead; no growth
on his cheeks; a small, brown mustache, and a well-shaped,
uggs clearance, round chin.
His expression was concentrated, meditative,
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light of the lamp I held up to his face; such as a man thinking
hard in solitude might wear. My sleeping suit was just right
for his size. A well-knit young fellow of twenty-five at most.
He caught his lower lip with the edge of white, even teeth.
"Yes," I said, replacing the lamp in the binnacle.
The warm, heavy tropical night closed upon his head again.
"There's a ship over there," he murmured.
"Yes, I know. The Sephora. Did you know of us?"
"Hadn't the slightest yilai：
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