It came on me with a
flash--and I offer this tribute to the Christian religion_."
Foe's answer was, "Very kind of you. As a fact, I have been
subsisting on hard biscuit and weak whisky-and-water: though I'm an
excellent sailor, as they say. . . . It's a diet that suits me when
I'm working hard."
"Working?" exclaimed Farrell. "What? Head-work, d'you mean? . . .
Doctor, this is the best news you could have told me. If only I
could know that you were picking up your interests--getting back to
yourself--"
Foe took him by the arm. "It's no good, unfortunately," he answered.
"Come up on deck, and I'll tell you."
On deck he repeated, "It's no good. I've been hard at it, working on
my memory, trying to sketch out a kind of monograph--summary of
conclusions--salvage from the wreck. But it won't do. It was an
edifice to be built up on data, bit by bit, like an atoll. . . . Ever
seen a coral reef, by the way? We'll inspect one--many perhaps--on
our travels. . . . I'd burn in the pit rather than smatter out
popular guess-work. Yes, all personal pride apart, I couldn't do it.
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