Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered. ” “Is that bad?” A shade of concern deepened on Shari’s face. “I have loved you,” he was saying, “ever since you sat on that gate and talked. ” “Oh, it wasn’t that.
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