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Wells, H. G. (Herbert George), 1866-1946

"Tono Bungay"

The
land to the right of us fell away and became barren, and far on across
notch in its backbone was surf and the sea.
We took the ship in towards those heaps and the ruined jetty slowly and
carefully. The captain came and talked.
"This is eet?" he said.
"Yes," said I.
"Is eet for trade we have come?"
This was ironical.
"No," said I.
"Gordon-Nasmyth would haf told me long ago what it ees for we haf come."
"I'll tell you now," I said. "We are going to lay in as close as we can
to those two heaps of stuff--you see them?--under the rock. Then we are
going to chuck all our ballast overboard and take those in. Then we're
going home."
"May I presume to ask--is eet gold?"
"No," I said incivilly, "it isn't."
"Then what is it?"
"It's stuff--of some commercial value."
"We can't do eet," he said.
"We can," I answered reassuringly.
"We can't," he said as confidently. "I don't mean what you mean. You
know so liddle--But--dis is forbidden country."
I turned on him suddenly angry and met bright excited eyes.


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