The packet was still there against the calf of his leg.

It must be his own hands which removed his clothes.

It seemed to him that those few bronzed faces, those half a dozen rude lanterns, had become magnified and multiplied a hundredfold.
It was an army of blue-jerseyed fishermen which patted him on the back and welcomed him, lanterns like the stars flashing everywhere around.
He set his teeth and fought against the buzzing in his ears.

He tried to speak, and his voice sounded like a weak, far away whisper.
"I am all right," he kept on saying.
Then he felt himself leaning on two brawny arms.

His feet followed the mesmeric influence of their movement.