Listening on the dimlit landing, he saw Roding’s face muscles tighten. The blast once more swept over the agitated river: whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before. "But—sapperment!—I wish they hadn't broken my pipe. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger.
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