Premise: I saw him where he lay along , sucking a fruit in his left hand .<br>His flesh was wasted off his bones , his hair was patched with white , and his hand was blue-veined like a woman 's .<br>He put his left arm round my neck and whispered , `` Take my sword .<br>It has been thine since Hastings , O my brother , but I can never hold hilt again . ''<br>We lay there on the high deck talking of Santlache , and , I think , of every day since Santlache , and it came so that we both wept .<br>I was weak , and he little more than a shadow . '<br>`` Nay -- nay , '' said Witta , at the helm-rail .
Hypothesis: Santlache is a place where misfortune occurred.