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Typhoon by Joseph Conrad
page 41 of 111 (36%)
viciously, but without effect.

He threw himself into the attitude of a lunging fencer, to reach after
his oilskin coat; and afterwards he staggered all over the confined
space while he jerked himself into it. Very grave, straddling his legs
far apart, and stretching his neck, he started to tie deliberately
the strings of his sou'-wester under his chin, with thick fingers that
trembled slightly. He went through all the movements of a woman putting
on her bonnet before a glass, with a strained, listening attention, as
though he had expected every moment to hear the shout of his name in the
confused clamour that had suddenly beset his ship. Its increase filled
his ears while he was getting ready to go out and confront whatever it
might mean. It was tumultuous and very loud--made up of the rush of the
wind, the crashes of the sea, with that prolonged deep vibration of the
air, like the roll of an immense and remote drum beating the charge of
the gale.

He stood for a moment in the light of the lamp, thick, clumsy, shapeless
in his panoply of combat, vigilant and red-faced.

"There's a lot of weight in this," he muttered.

As soon as he attempted to open the door the wind caught it. Clinging
to the handle, he was dragged out over the doorstep, and at once found
himself engaged with the wind in a sort of personal scuffle whose
object was the shutting of that door. At the last moment a tongue of air
scurried in and licked out the flame of the lamp.

Ahead of the ship he perceived a great darkness lying upon a multitude
of white flashes; on the starboard beam a few amazing stars drooped, dim
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