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old man. And he would tell Dr. Wilcove not to hold himself responsible for anything, if it was such a bother. After all, the trustees couldn't keep the moss from growing over the shipyard at Hale's Turning; besides, he didn't want it.
There was the island where the Orizaba had sunk. Deep under the green water were skeletons shut up in cabins and engine-rooms. An enormous propeller lay abandoned on the bronze rocks, and the sun beat scorchingly down.
A gong sounded and passengers precipitated themselves below deck. Paul was filled with curiosity as to the food. With an overwhelming shyness he made his way toward the dining-saloon. A steward in a white jacket would serve him!
