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In Search of the Castaways; or the Children of Captain Grant by Jules Verne
page 117 of 684 (17%)
Each one, thereupon, wrapped himself up in his poncho, and the fire
was made up for the night.

Loud snores in every tune and key soon resounded from all sides of
the hut, the deep bass contribution of Paganel completing the harmony.

But Glenarvan could not sleep. Secret uneasiness kept
him in a continual state of wakefulness. His thoughts
reverted involuntarily to those frightened animals flying
in one common direction, impelled by one common terror.
They could not be pursued by wild beasts, for at such an elevation
there were almost none to be met with, and of hunters still fewer.
What terror then could have driven them among the precipices
of the Andes? Glenarvan felt a presentiment of approaching danger.

But gradually he fell into a half-drowsy state, and his apprehensions
were lulled. Hope took the place of fear. He saw himself on the morrow
on the plains of the Andes, where the search would actually commence,
and perhaps success was close at hand. He thought of Captain Grant
and his two sailors, and their deliverance from cruel bondage.
As these visions passed rapidly through his mind, every now and then
he was roused by the crackling of the fire, or sparks flying out,
or some little jet of flame would suddenly flare up and illumine
the faces of his slumbering companions.

Then his presentiments returned in greater strength than before,
and he listened anxiously to the sounds outside the hut.

At certain intervals he fancied he could hear rumbling noises
in the distance, dull and threatening like the mutter-ings
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