Ten o'clock the next morning found Mr. Marvel, unshaven, dirty, and travel-stained, sitting with the books beside him and his hands deep in his pockets, looking very weary, nervous, and uncomfortable, and inflating his cheeks at infrequent intervals, on the bench outside a little inn on the outskirts of Port Stowe.
Biharamuneko hamarretan Port Stowengo aldirietako ostatu txiki baten atarian zegoen Marvel; bizarra kendu gabe eta bidaiako izerdia garbitu gabe zegoen; liburuak aldean zituen eta eserita zegoen, eskuak patriketan sarturik. Urduri antza zegoen, estu, deseroso; tarteka masailak puzten zituen.