They were bickering, she could tell by the way the mother threw her fat arms into the air and paced restlessly about the tiny clapboard house. The guests congregated within the night-cellar were, in fact, little better than thieves; but thieves who confined their depredations almost exclusively to the vessels lying in the pool and docks of the river. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. Not MY affair. . It is enough to make a man throw away canvas and brushes into the bottomless precipices, enough to make one weep with despair at his utter and absolute impotence.
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