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 and his book were dead. I can see Lettice reading the dedication of his life and its epitaph:

and saying, "Silly boy!"

kissed his little friend and lover good-by. Outside it was still blowing great guns. Beauling and the Osiris went into the storm at railroad speed—she was sister to the Isis, and could spin twenty-three knots in fair weather, twenty-two in foul. Beauling, because his face was turned from home, wondered if the back of a tortoise would not have afforded swifter locomotion.