’ ‘Unless it is Captain Roding,’ put in Lucilla Froxfield from the curved back sofa on the other side of the fireplace. Are you going to write a novel?” “Not I,” she answered gaily. She did not enter the cabin at once, but paused on the threshold and stared at the silent, recumbent figure in the bunk. She got out of bed, her eyes still half-closed, and stood slack jawed. If he senses fear in the touch of your hand, he'll give you trouble.
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