You have all the instinctive dexterity of parasites. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun.
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