Summary

Frank Savile Beyond the Great South Wall: The Secret of the Antarctic (1901)

Garlicke was as one possessed. “My God, my God,” he shrieked, “I’ve murdered him—murdered him. What am I to do? What am I to do? Speak, you fool,” he yammered, “tell me what I’m to do—to do,” and his voice rose to a scream, while he shook at my coat tempestuously. “Don’t tell me that we can’t reach him. My God, I shall go mad,” and he flung himself down upon the ice, tearing at it with bruised and bleeding fingers as he chattered hysterically. “For God’s sake, Heatherslie, say there’s hope—that we can get him up. We must—we must. Lord, have mercy upon me; what am I to do?”
Source: Gutenberg

Frank Savile Beyond the Great South Wall: The Secret of the Antarctic (1901)

Gwen and Vi had been upon the heights above us, trying to sketch the line of needle-like pinnacles that crowned the ridge. Gwen, it appeared, had been engaged upon the very one that had fallen upon the glacier, and had been utterly stupefied, as it bowed toward her and then precipitated itself into the depths below. Both of them were dismayed beyond measure by the upheaval and the partial disappearance of the ship, and came flying down the slope, frightened to death by the roar and thrilling of the solid earth, confidently expecting further shocks and total engulfment.
Source: Gutenberg

Frank Savile Beyond the Great South Wall: The Secret of the Antarctic (1901)

Action was born only too rapidly from reflection. We had seen them off that very morning.
So there sat we in the desolation of a mere club, disconsolate amid the roar of the city, while the sunset became the twilight, the shadows of the lamp-posts lengthened, and darkness fell upon the town even as upon our hearts. And out of the plenitude of my regret I failed to find the word of sympathetic comfort for Gerry.
Lost in our heavy-hearted musings, it was past eight when we realized that food was yet a distasteful necessity of existence, and sought the club dinner.
Source: Gutenberg

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