. A piece of seaweed touched her hand, tender and green. Her gaze flickered down to his pistol. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. Let us walk about.
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