In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. . What his head conceived his hand executed. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand.
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