Explore "The Riddle of the Sands" by Erskine Childers on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"Goodbye, old chap," called Davies.
"Goodbye," the whistle blew and the ferry-steamer forged ahead, leaving Davies on the quay, bareheaded and wearing his old Norfolk jacket and stained grey flannels, as at our first meeting in Flensburg station. There was no bandaged hand this time, but he looked pinched and depressed; his eyes had black circles round them; and again I felt that same indefinable pathos in him.