Plote was sleeping or deaf. He was disquieted. Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint. "I give you one minute for reflection. This was unscrupulous, he admitted, because he had no intention of following through on the seductive promise in his conduct. . Boldly he turned the knob of a certain door and entered. And you talk like that! What the devil have you been up to, to land in this bog?" It was a cast at random. "Fox-terriers of the sea; friends with every ship that comes along.
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