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"Of course," a voice seemed to be complaining anew, and still through that confused dinning in Abel Keeling's ears, "we can't turn a four-inch on it.... And, of course, Ward, I don't believe in 'em. D'you hear, Ward? I don't believe in 'em, I say.... Shall we call down to old A. B.? This might interest His Scientific Skippership...."
I'm afraid of women. They stare at your clothes, and I know mine are horrid." "Mrs. West won't stare. She'll help you buy pretty things to wear when you go to your mother." "Will she? But how shall I buy them? I haven't any money." "You'll have money from your father's brooch. Now will you trust me and come to Mrs. Keeling's house, as your grandmother bows to her?"
The bell was of cast bronze, with half-obliterated bosses upon it that had been the heads of cherubs; but wind and salt spray had given it a thick incrustation of bright, beautiful, lichenous green. It was this colour that Abel Keeling's eyes liked. For wherever else on the galleon his eyes rested they found only whiteness the whiteness of extreme eld.
This do trouble me; but yet it is good luck that the sum is no bigger. He gone, I with my cozen Roger to Westminster Hall; and there we met the House rising: and they have voted my Lord Chief Justice Keeling's proceedings illegal; but that, out of particular respect to him, and the mediation of a great many, they have resolved to proceed no further against him.
Beyond those cheerful dinner-tables, and in that outer darkness of which the best people knew nothing except that it was possible to rake it fruitfully with a comb, there was a host of young men from which could be manifested the courageous intellectual curiosity, the ardour for truth, the gusto for life, and the love of earth, which we see in Keeling's letters and Barbellion's diary.
It would be the Amen of his life to have praised God, not upon a harp, but upon a ship that should carry her own power, that should store wind or its equivalent as she stored her victuals, that should be something wrested from the chaos of uninvention and ordered and disciplined and subordinated to Abel Keeling's will.... And there she was, that ship-shaped thing of spirit-grey, with the four pipes that resembled a phantom organ now broadside and of equal length.
Yet she was sorry that he hadn't wished her luck in so many words. She walked toward the gate. The car had stopped. Mrs. Keeling's place, lent to her much-admired authors, had a very pretty gate. It was approached from the garden way, through an arbour thickly hung with roses and honeysuckle.
Abel Keeling's movement overturned the pipkin, which raced the little trickle of its contents down the deck and lodged where the still and brimming sea made, as it were, a chain with the carved balustrade of the quarter-deck one link a still gleaming edge, then a dark baluster, and then another gleaming link.
And as he looked, with fooled eyes, again his ears became fooled: "Ahoy there! What ship's that? Are you a ship?... Here, give me that trumpet " Then a metallic barking. "Ahoy there! What the devil are you? Didn't you ring a bell? Ring it again, or blow a blast or something, and go dead slow!" All this came, as it were, indistinctly, and through a sort of high singing in Abel Keeling's own ears.
"And as for our armament," the voice with the tones that so profoundly troubled Abel Keeling's memory continued, "we've two revolving Whitehead torpedo-tubes, three six-pounders on the upper deck, and that's a twelve-pounder forward there by the conning-tower.
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