I had sprung to my feet. I was speaking, and yet I had prepared no words. Tarp Henry, my companion, was plucking at my skirts and I heard him whispering, Sit down, Malone! Don't make a public ass of yourself.
Sit down, Malone! Don't make a public ass of yourself.
Yes, there is death in this business of whaling—a speechlessly quick chaotic bundling of a man into Eternity.
Coordinate term: T1D
And we can sense that, though permanently crestfallen, there is something in his nature, which makes him accept solitude, that is rather fearless.
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