On coming to himself, he found he had been wrapped in a blanket and put to bed with a couple of hot bricks to his feet. Very doubtful. The rest of his attire was nondescript. "Allow him that small grace," cried Wood. "Shall I fetch the light, Captain?" whispered Blueskin. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. "Was that thunder?" he faltered, as a terrible clap was heard overhead.
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