in my soul but the never-ceasing crash of the sea, and dumb horror at the fate that had possession of me. . . .
XV
He lay on his back, turned a little to one side, with his left arm behind his head . . . the right was thrust under his bent body. The toes of his feet, in high sailor's boots, had been sucked into the slimy sea-mud; the short blue jacket, drenched through with brine, was still closely buttoned; a red scarf was fastened in a tight knot about his neck. The dark face, turned to the sky, looked as if it were laughing; the small close-set teeth could be seen under the lifted upper lip; the dim pupils of the half-closed eyes were scarcely discernible in the darkened eyeballs; the clotted hair, covered with bubbles of foam, lay dishevelled on the ground, and bared the smooth brow with the purple line of the scar; the narrow nose rose, a sharp white line, between the sunken cheeks. The storm of the previous night had done its work. . . . He would never see America again! The man who had outraged my mother, who had spoiled and soiled her life; my father — yes !
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