The Bronze Bell by Louis Joseph Vance
page 57 of 360 (15%)
page 57 of 360 (15%)
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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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