He sat upon a great iron clamped pile, spitting into the yellow water below.

The air was full of the smell of bilge and oakum and fish; the thousands of masts made a gray maze against the sky; occasionally an empty truck trundled over the hollow docks with a sound of distant cannon.

A weakness, a little trembling that seemed to come from the pit of his stomach, began upon Vandover.

He was very hungry.

Evidently the slice of cocoanut was no longer effective.