Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. Knowing the South Seas from hearsay and by travel, he knew something of that inertia which blunted the fineness, innate and acquired, of white men and women, the eternal warfare against indifference and slovenliness. It was Jack, wasn’t it?’ ‘Aye, s-sir. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. ‘As I said, a mistake. The mock astonishment of his face immediately became genuine.
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