And now may God bless you and prevent evil
thoughts from rising between us. My heart is sadder than I can tell.
And I am expected to sit down and write a critique on a play. God
bless you and the babies; kiss their rosy cheeks for your faithful
old Pal."
When the captain had sent off his letter, he went into the officers'
mess and drank a glass of punch. The doctor was there, too.
"Have you noticed a smell of old black breeches?" he asked. "I should
like to hoist myself up to the cat block and let a good old N.W. by N.
blow right through me."
But the doctor did not understand what he was driving at.
"Ottilia, Ottilia!... What she wants is a taste of the handspike. Send
the witch to the quarterdeck and let the second mess loose on her behind
closed hatches. One knows what is good for an old maid."
"What's the matter with you, old chap?" asked the doctor.
"Plato! Plato! To the devil with Plato! To be six months at sea makes
one sick of Plato. That teaches one ethics! Ethics? I bet a marlinspike
to a large rifle: if Ottilia were married she would cease talking of
Plato."
"What on earth _is_ the matter?"
"Nothing. Do you hear? You're a doctor. What's the matter with those
women? Isn't it bad for them to remain unmarried? Doesn't it make
them.
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