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Updated: June 21, 2025
The fog was so thick we could not see ten rods, and the wind is so ahead that we have not made ten miles since yesterday noon. "Monday, June 23. Towards noon the fog goes off fast, and in the afternoon we could see several of our vessels; one came close alongside of us. Mr. Emslie says we are an hundred and forty miles from land now.
He was lying in a tent, and there was a little group of troopers at the door, smoking. They thought he was asleep. He heard Emslie say: "Doane looks like a decent-enough head, doesn't he? Shows you never can tell." "The worst criminals are always a decent-looking sort," said another. "That's why they're dangerous."
We begin to see the fog come on, for that is natural to this place. At six our Commodore fired for the ships to lie to until those behind should come up. Mr. Emslie drank tea with Mr. Frost and myself. The fog comes on very thick this evening." "Saturday, June 21. Rose at 8 o'clock. It was so foggy we could not see one ship belonging to the fleet.
All night he tried to steel his heart against fate and against Colina. It was harder now. It was an utterly wretched Ambrose that faced the dawn. While it was still early Emslie passed him a note through the window. Ambrose knew the handwriting, and tore it open with trembling fingers. He read: MY DEAR LOVE: I was hateful. It was the meanest kind of jealousy.
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