It was on the night of the Great Storm that I found him. “There are policemen—and buses. He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough. Prudence attacked her chicken wing. She began rubbing it with her pocket-handkerchief. Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment. Under his arm he carried a thick, knotted crab-stick.
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