The Frozen Deep by Wilkie Collins
page 43 of 130 (33%)
page 43 of 130 (33%)
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flavor the hot water if you can! When I remember that I was once
an apprentice at a pastry-cook's--when I think of the gallons of turtle-soup that this hand has stirred up in a jolly hot kitchen--and when I find myself mixing bones and hot water for soup, and turning into ice as fast as I can; if I wasn't of a cheerful disposition I should feel inclined to grumble. John Want! John Want! whatever had you done with your natural senses when you made up your mind to go to sea?" A new voice hailed the cook, speaking from one of the bed-places in the side of the hut. It was the voice of Francis Aldersley. "Who's that croaking over the fire?" "Croaking?" repeated John Want, with the air of a man who considered himself the object of a gratuitous insult. "Croaking? You don't find your own voice at all altered for the worse--do you, Mr. Frank? I don't give _him_," John proceeded, speaking confidentially to himself, "more than six hours to last. He's one of your grumblers." "What are you doing there?" asked Frank. "I'm making bone soup, sir, and wondering why I ever went to sea." "Well, and why did you go to sea?" "I'm not certain, Mr. Frank. Sometimes I think it was natural perversity; sometimes I think it was false pride at getting over |
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