"Which of you will go in?"
"Ma'amselle, I can't swim," piteously declared the older negro.
"Neither can I, ma'amselle," pleaded the other.
"Then I shall have to go in myself. I cannot swim, either, and I shall
die, but I cannot help it."
The desperate and useless impulse which so often perishes in words
returned upon her with its absurdity as she stared down, trying to part
the muddy atoms of the Mississippi. The men held the boat in a scarcely
visible stream moving from west to east through the gaps in the
building. They eyed her, waiting the motions of the Caucasian mind, but
dumbly certain it was their duty to seize her if she tried to throw
herself in.
They waited until Angelique hid her face upon a bench, shivering in her
clinging garments with a chill which was colder than any the river gave.
A ghostly shadow of themselves and the boat and the collapsed figure of
the girl began to grow upon the water. More stones in the moist walls
showed glistening surfaces as the light mounted.
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