If you choose, you can see him put on board the Zeeslang yourself, Sir Rowland. I have always managed to survive, haven’t I?” She was eager to stop talking about her parents. “What is the good of pretending?” she said. Swinging her arm in an arc, she let go of the foil and it flew across the chapel towards the main door, crashing down between the pews, and clattering onto the floor. This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation. There were two of them.
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