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Banfield, E. J. (Edmund James), 1852-1923

"Confessions of a Beachcomber"

"He'll be a bit
narked at having wasted a whole bloomin' day. I shouldn't be surprised
if he was savage, because I didn't call him."
When the evening meal was prepared and everything in the tiny hut made
orderly, it would be a pleasure for him to wake up and discover that he
had been allowed to have his sleep out.
Ah! but his sleep was very sound and very silent--almost too stillful
to be natural.
A touch on his shoulders, saying--"Andrew. Wake up, old fellow!"
No movement, or response. His feet--cold! cold! and his chest, too, cold!
The mate had found his port after stormy seas. His heart--worn out with
stress and strain--had failed within him, and all day long his companion
thought tenderly of him, making but little noise, thinking that his
sleep was the sleep of a day, not the sleep of eternity that no earthly
din may disturb.
The weather was still boisterous, but it was essential to take the body
to Bowen, to render unto the authorities there conclusive evidence that
death had been the result of natural causes. My visitor's nerves were
then virile. But the time of stress and strain was at hand. He found
himself alone on a remote Island.


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