At a glance it was easy to detect their malady; it was the horrible
ennui which comes to men who are always surrounded by one set of
faces. If a man is happily married he may bear with his wife and his
children constantly through long stretches of time, but the glamour of
life lies in the varying personalities which a man glimpses in
passing, but never knows.
This was a rare crew. Every man of them was marked for courage and
stamina and wild daring. Yet even so in their passive moments they
hated each other with a hate that passed the understanding of
common men.
Through seven years they had held together, through fair weather and
foul, and now each knew from the other's expression the words that
were about to be spoken, and each knew that the other was reading him,
and loathing what he read.
So they were apt to relapse into long silences unless Jack was with
them, for being a woman her variety was infinite, or Pierre le Rouge,
whom all except Black Gandil loved and petted, and feared.
They were a battered crowd.
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