‘You obstinate little devil. ‘Did she call you that?’ asked Lucilla, amused. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. “I wonder,” he said, “is there anything we could do to help you to get rid of him?” “Can you think of anything?” Anna answered. “Please stay,” she said briefly. It was a castoff of Shari’s from her brief obsession with sewing. She still had her letter of credit.
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