It was not human and yet very human, a high pitched wail of hunger that rattled her skull. Then he threw the letter at me. During this dreadful pause the wretched man felt for his sword. The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing. Besides, he was a Yale man. Wood's boat bearing up towards him.
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