Everything had so far come to pass as the withered old Kanaka woman had foretold. ‘Don’t even think of it,’ warned Gerald, in the voice generally reserved for his men. “And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. Courtlaw, who was sitting by the bedside, bent over him. Spurling was no longer allowed to visit him; he was again loaded with irons; fastened by an enormous horse-padlock to a staple in the floor; and only allowed to take repose in a chair.
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