"No, lad," said McClintock, his tone becoming kindly. Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. Our land brings us in nothing. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. He was never drunk in the accepted meaning of the word; rather he walked in a kind of stupefaction.
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