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Mrs. Wilson cleared her throat. "They do say that Mr. Hinter visits the light-house regular every week. Have you heard that, Missus Keeler?" "My son, Captain Weaver, my son!" broke in the Admiral tremulously. "Daddy.".
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Maurice Keeler, wan, hollow-eyed, and miserable, was seated on a stool just outside the door in the early morning sunlight. Near him sat his mother, peeling potatoes, her portly form obscured by a trailing wistaria vine. What Maurice had endured during his two weeks with the measles nobody knew but himself. His days had been lonely, filled with remorse that he had ever been born to give people trouble and care; his nights longer even than the days. Hideous nightmares had robbed him of slumber. Old Scroggie's ghost had visited him almost nightly. The Twin Oaks robbers, ugly, hairy giants armed with red-hot pitch-forks, had bound him to a tree and applied fire to his feet. What use to struggle or cry aloud for help? Even Billy, his dearest chum, had sat and laughed with all the mouths of his eight heads at his pain. Of course he had awakened to learn these were but dreams; but to a boy dreams are closely akin to reality. "In that case he must have intended during the day," said Captain Acton, addressing the Admiral, "to sail early this morning. For, as I have explained to you, he could have had no time to do his business at so early an hour at which he started this morning, nor would the officials be seen at that time. Therefore he must have made the necessary arrangements yesterday for what he contemplated as a daybreak departure this morning." "I was too much agitated to reflect, papa," Lucy answered. "It seemed so natural—so reasonable, and I hastened to the ship, in the belief that you were lying in her seriously hurt." And thus speaking she turned to the bulkhead, and putting her arm against it buried her face in her sleeve, and fell to sobbing so piteously that you would have thought her poor little heart was broken..
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