You
seem to have married extensively, and I must rough 'em in with the pencil--
Medes, Parthians, Edomites. . . . Now, setting aside the weakness and the
wickedness and--and the fat-headedness of deliberately trying to do work that
will live, as they call it, I'm content with the knowledge that I've done my
best up to date, and I shan't do anything like it again for some hours at
least--probably years. Most probably never."
"What! any stuff you have in stock your best work?" said Torpenhow.
"Anything you've sold?" said the Nilghai.
"Oh no. It isn't here and it isn't sold. Better than that, it can't be sold,
and I don't think any one knows where it is. I'm sure I don't. . . . And yet
more and more wives, on the north side of the square. Observe the virtuous
horror of the lions!"
"You may as well explain," said Torpenhow, and Dick lifted his head from the
paper.
"The sea reminded me of it," he said slowly. "I wish it hadn't. It weighs some
few thousand tons--unless you cut it out with a cold chisel."
"Don't be an idiot. You can't pose with us here," said the Nilghai.
"There's no pose in the matter at all. It's a fact. I was loafing from Lima to
Auckland in a big, old, condemned passenger-ship turned into a cargo-boat and
owned by a second-hand Italian firm.
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