On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. He paced faster, stomping around. Men in this part of the world drink to forget the things they have lost. The island had evidently grown round this lagoon, approached it gradually from the volcanic upheaval—an island of coral and lava. ‘Certainly I have them with me. The acid of this incertitude had disintegrated his nerve; and in Canton had come the smash.
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