"What for?" rejoined Quilt, evasively. ” “Wait? For what?” She replied. “Yes. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. She wants that and needs it more than anything else in the world. The young male, as she had actually seen him, had been of the sailor type, hard-bitten, primordial, ruthless. He was in misery; he was paying for last night's debauch.
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