“Michelle knows!” Lucy stood in stunned silence for a moment, and then cursed. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. ’ She was about to develop this theme, when Jack’s gaze became fixed, and his expression changed. The young lady—if she had come in here at all—had vanished. He heard the panting of the donkey-engine, then the slithering of the anchor chains. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. How perfectly charming. ‘Stand where you are, or I shoot!’ Like lightning, thoughts zipped through her mind.
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