Her cheeks flushed a dull red. ‘Must be still downstairs. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe. “I can only repeat what I said before,” she declared. "Your uncle, Sir Rowland?" "It is no idle boasting," replied the other. "A sail?" said McClintock. As though accidentally she swept her skirts from a chair close drawn to her own.
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