His hand was sweeping nervously across his face, as though he were brushing away cobwebs.

I was puzzled.

The whole thing was so unlike the Wolf Larsen I had known.
"How are your headaches ?" I asked.
"They still trouble me," was his answer.

"I think I have one coming on now." He slipped down from his sitting posture till he lay on the deck.

Then he rolled over on his side, his head resting on the biceps of the under arm, the forearm shielding his eyes from the sun.