Our lips were dry and cracked, nor could we longer moisten them with our tongues.

Then the wind slowly died down.

By night it was dead calm and I was toiling once more at the oars--but weakly, most weakly.
At two in the morning the boat's bow touched the beach of our own inner cove and I staggered out to make the painter fast.

Maud could not stand, nor had I strength to carry her.

I fell in the sand with her, and, when I had recovered, contented myself with putting my hands under her shoulders and dragging her up the beach to the hut.
The next day we did no work.