‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. "Ruth?" he called. Upon which Mrs. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. The South China will be dropping to a dead calm, and I want to use canvas as much as I can.
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