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The Bronze Bell by Louis Joseph Vance
page 57 of 360 (15%)
raving of the maniac wind.

"What is it?" he inquired at length, unable longer to endure the
tensity of the pause.

"Nothing. I beg your pardon, David." Rutton returned to his chair,
making a visible effort to shake off his preoccupation. "It's an ugly
night, out there. Lucky you blundered on this place. Tell me how it
happened. What became of the other man--your friend?"

The thought of Quain stabbed Amber's consciousness with a mental pang
as keen as acute physical anguish. He jumped up in torment. "God!" he
cried chokingly. "I'd forgotten! He's out there on the bay, poor
devil!--freezing to death if not drowned. Our boat went adrift somehow;
Quain would insist on going after her in a leaky old skiff we found on
the shore ... and didn't come back. I waited till it was hopeless, then
concluded I'd make a try to cross to Shampton by way of the tidal bar.
And I must!"

"It's impossible," Rutton told him with grave sympathy.

"But I must; think of his wife and children, Rutton! There's a chance
yet--a bare chance; he may have reached the boat. If he did, every
minute I waste here is killing him by inches; he'll die of exposure!
But from Shampton we could send a boat--"

"The tide fulls about midnight to-night," interrupted Rutton,
consulting his watch. "It's after nine,--and there's a heavy surf
breaking over the bar now. By ten it'll be impassable, and you couldn't
reach it before eleven. Be content, David; you're powerless."
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