But in silent gratitude at the end of a voyage almost equally uncongenial to both of us, and so bitter to one, Harry and I sat on a chest in the forecastle. And now the ship that we had loathed grew lovely in our eyes, which lingered over every familiar old timber, for the scene of suffering is a scene of joy when the suffering is past and the silent reminiscence of hardships departed is sweeter than the presence of delight.
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