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his pace into a discreet walk. He still wagged his tail--no longer
joyfully, however, but with the sad and feeble wag of a dog troubled in
his mind. Still preceding Gwynplaine, he passed along the after-deck,
and across the gangway.
Gwynplaine, having reached the gangway, perceived a light in front of
him. It was the same that he had seen from the shore. There was a
lantern on the deck, close to the foremast, by the gleam of which was
sketched in black, on the dim background of the night, what Gwynplaine
recognized to be Ursus's old four-wheeled van.
This poor wooden tenement, cart and hut combined, in which his childhood
had rolled along, was fastened to the bottom of the mast by thick ropes,
of which the knots were visible at the wheels. Having been so long out
of service, it had become dreadfully rickety; it leant over feebly on
one side; it had become quite paralytic from disuse; and, moreover, it
was suffering from that incurable malady--old age. Mouldy and out of
shape, it tottered in decay. The materials of which it was built were
all rotten. The iron was rusty, the leather torn, the wood-work
worm-eaten. There were lines of cracks across the window in front,
through which shone a ray from the lantern. The wheels were warped. The
lining, the floor, and the axletrees seemed worn out with fatigue.
Altogether, it presented an indescribable appearance of beggary and
prostration. The shafts, stuck up, looked like two arms raised to
heaven. The whole thing was in a state of dislocation. Beneath it was
hanging Homo's chain.
909
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