At the place, close to the Dead Mans Point, at the Rosses, where the disused pilot?house looks out to sea through two round windows like eyes, a mud cottage stood in the last tury. It also was a watchhouse, for a certain old Michael Bruen, who had been a smuggler in his day, and was still the father and grandfather of smugglers, lived there, and when, after nightfall, a tall ser crept over the bay frhley, it was his busio hang a horn lanthorn in the southern window, that the news might travel to Dorrens Island, and from thence, by another horn lanthorn, to the village of the Rosses. But for this glimmering of messages, he had little union with mankind, for he was very old, and had no thought for anything but for the making of his soul, at the foot of the Spanish crucifix of carved oak that hung by his ey, or bent double over the rosary of stone beads brought to him a cargo of silks and laces out of France. One night he had watched hour after hour, becau……（内容加载失败！）
(ò﹏ò)
抱歉，章节内容不支持该浏览器显示～
【为了使用完整的阅读功能】
请考虑使用〔Chrome 谷歌浏览器〕、〔Safari 苹果浏览器〕或者〔Edge 微软浏览器〕等原生浏览器阅读！
谢谢!!!