Ice had begun to form in the shallows. My feelings overpower me. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. Hitherto in the world’s history there had been precursors of this Progress at great intervals, voices that had spoken and ceased, but now it was all coming on together in a rush. Perhaps I ought not to; but this isn't a case to fiddle-faddle over.
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