"The Secret Sharer"
by Joseph Conrad

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     "Not at all the style of man. You understand," he insisted, superfluously, looking hard at me.

     I smiled urbanely. He seemed at a loss for a while.

     "I suppose I must report a suicide."

     "Beg pardon?"

     "Suicide! That's what I'll have to write to my owners directly I get in."

     "Unless you manage to recover him before tomorrow," I assented, dispassionately. . . . "I mean, alive."


     He mumbled something which I really did not catch, and I turned my ear to him in a puzzled manner. He fairly bawled:

     "The land--I say, the mainland is at least seven miles off my anchorage."

     "About that."

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