Out on the sea again I was tormented by the old dream of the crevassed
glacier; and if anybody wonders why a hulking chap who had not been
afraid of a ninety-mile blizzard in the region of the Pole allowed
himself to be kept awake at night by a buzzing in the brain, all I can
say is that it was so, and I know nothing more about it.
Perhaps my recent experience with the "wireless" persuaded me that if
two sticks stuck in the earth could be made to communicate with each
other over hundreds of miles, two hearts that loved each other knew no
limitations of time or space.
In any case I was now so sure that my dear one had called me home from
the Antarctic that by the time we reached Port Said, and telegrams were
pouring in on me, I had worked myself up to such a fear that I dared not
open them.
From sheer dread of the joy or sorrow that might be enclosed in the
yellow covers, I got O'Sullivan down in my cabin to read my telegrams,
while I scanned his face and nearly choked with my own tobacco smoke.
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