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London, Jack, 1876-1916

"The Mutiny of the Elsinore"

A man is a man, sir-
-you understand--and you have not spoken of it to her?"
"No," I replied. "It just happens that I have not."
"Nor to anybody else?--to, say, Captain West?--or, say, Mr. Pike?"
"No, I haven't mentioned it to anybody," I averred.
He could not conceal the relief he experienced. The perturbation
went out of his face and manner, and the ambushed thing drew back
deeper into the recess of his skull.
"The favour, sir, Mr. Pathurst, that I would prefer is that you will
not mention that little matter to anybody. I suppose" (he smiled,
and his voice was superlatively suave) "it is vanity on my part--you
understand, I am sure."
I nodded, and made a restless movement with my book as evidence that
I desired to resume my reading.
"I can depend upon you for that, Mr. Pathurst?" His whole voice and
manner had changed. It was practically a command, and I could almost
see fangs, bared and menacing, sprouting in the jaws of that thing I
fancied dwelt behind his eyes.
"Certainly," I answered coldly.


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