In spite of all this, Caius had expected a more
villainous-looking person, and so great was his loathing that he would
rather have seen him in a more obnoxious light. The man had a certain
dignity of bearing; his face had that unfurrowed look that means a low
moral sense, for there is no evidence of conflict. His eyes were too
near each other; this last was, perhaps, the only sign by which Nature
from the outset had marred a really excellent piece of manly proportion.
Caius made these observations involuntarily. As Le Maitre stepped here
and there in a dull way while a chest that belonged to him was being
lowered into the boat, Caius could not help realizing that his
preconceived notions of the man as a monster had been exaggerated; he
was a common man, fallen into low habits, and fixed in them by middle
age.
Le Maitre got into the boat in seaman-like fashion. He was perfectly at
home there, and dull as his eye looked, he tacitly assumed command. He
took O'Shea's pole from him, stepped to the prow, and began to turn the
boat, without regarding the fact that O'Shea was still holding hasty
conversation with the men on the schooner concerning the public events
of the winter months--the news they had brought from the mainland.
Everything had been done in the greatest haste; it was not twelve
minutes after the schooner had been brought to a stand when her sails
were again turned to catch the breeze.
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