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was singly occupied in contemplating the horror of the circumstances in
which he sat. What Attwater knew, what the captain designed, from which
side treachery was to be first expected, these were the ground of his
thoughts. There were times when he longed to throw down the table and
flee into the night. And even that was debarred him; to do anything,
to say anything, to move at all, were only to precipitate the barbarous
tragedy; and he sat spellbound, eating with white lips. Two of his
companions observed him narrowly, Attwater with raking, sidelong glances
that did not interrupt his talk, the captain with a heavy and anxious
consideration.
'
Well, I must say this sherry is a really prime article,' said Huish.
'Ow much does it stand you in, if it's a fair question?'
'
'A hundred and twelve shillings in London, and the freight to
Valparaiso, and on again,' said Attwater. 'It strikes one as really not
a bad fluid.'
'A 'undred and twelve!' murmured the clerk, relishing the wine and the
figures in a common ecstasy: 'O my!'
'So glad you like it,' said Attwater. 'Help yourself, Mr Whish, and keep
the bottle by you.'
'My friend's name is Huish and not Whish, sit,' said the captain with a
flush.
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