Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. His pipe hung dead in his teeth, but the smoke was dense about him. "After all our pains we were near losing him, Sir Rowland. Softly she rose to her feet. ‘And why not?’ ‘Because,’ Gerald said matter of factly, ‘convent-bred jeune demoiselles do not commonly know how to handle either pistols or daggers. Sometimes at sea a skipper will order his men to trim, batten down the hatches, and clear the deck of all litter. I HAD to.
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