Soon Starbuck returned with a letter in his hand. It was sorely tumbled, damp, and covered with a dull, spotted, green mould, in consequence of being kept in a dark locker of the cabin. Of such a letter, Death himself might well have been the post-boy.
(It's better to create than destroy what's unnecessary)
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Moby Dick - pg. 459
Labels: Herman Melville
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