George Manville Fenn,
Seven Frozen Sailors
“ In a jiffy, out comes Miller Howell, with a face like the mast of a rakish yacht, long, and thin, and yallow.“What d’ye want, Hugh Anwyl?”The words was spoken harsh indeed, and angry. I started as if he had struck me across the face, or ordered me into irons.“Master,” says I, “I’m going away for along journey, perhaps never to come back again; and I wish to say good-by to your daughter Rhoda.”He looks at me from top to toe, and up again from toe to top. The man’s features were as hard and pitiless as if they had been cut out of a block of Welsh granite. ”
