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PinkMonkey.com-Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson


made sure we must fall into some bar of raging breakers, where all
my troubles would be ended speedily; and though I could,
perhaps, bear to die, I could not bear to look upon my fate as it
approached.

So I must have lain for hours, continually beaten to and fro
upon the billows, now and again wetted with flying sprays, and
never ceasing to expect death at the next plunge. Gradually
weariness grew upon me; a numbness, an occasional stupor, fell
upon my mind even in the midst of my terrors, until sleep at last
supervened and in my sea-tossed coracle I lay and dreamed of
home and the old Admiral Benbow.


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