She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. McClintock, coming from below, saw them and went forward. The young male, as she had actually seen him, had been of the sailor type, hard-bitten, primordial, ruthless. —There, Mr. Was he, too, on the way to the beach? What a pity! All alone, and none to warn him of the abject wretchedness at the end of Drink.
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