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Maurice sank weakly down against a tree trunk, and groaned. "Yes, it is," cried Greyquill. "For people like you who can't get on ought to get out." "Thank God," he whispered, and stood trembling. Then, as though to himself, he said softly: "It is as though her soft hand touched these eyes that will never see again.".
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The cabin dinner-hour on board the Minorca was one o'clock. When Mr Lawrence first met Mr Eagle, and perceived that he was little superior to a working hand before the mast, he had made up his mind to hold no intercourse with him outside the absolute requirements of the ship's routine. He had told him plainly that he desired to dine alone, and that when the mate's duty kept him on deck he, Mr Lawrence, would relieve him after he had finished his meal. This arrangement perhaps secretly pleased Mr Eagle, even on the spot when it was first named, for he easily witnessed in Mr Lawrence a man so out and away superior to himself that he judged he would feel like taking a great liberty every time he sat down with the master of the ship. She continued to stare at him. Her figure still seemed to shrink as though in her first recoil when he tried to take her hand. Her face then suddenly underwent a change, her mouth relaxed what in homely features might have been called its wild grin; she frowned; her eyes took an unsettled look. There was something in her countenance that could hardly have failed to arrest the attention of any one who had a tolerable acquaintance with the insane. Mr Lawrence seemed to see nothing but Lucy Acton in her beauty. Captain Acton easily perceived what was happening, and might as easily have guessed what was to come. The Admiral was as perceptive as his friend, and as reserved. "Oh yes you will," echoed another voice on the left, and on the right still another voice chanted. "You will, you will.".
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