It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. ‘Jacques!’ He stopped, but he did not turn. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. “I have answered all your questions,” she said. You will have lots of time on your hands. There it is. “Hullo!” Courtlaw, haggard, his deep-set eyes more brilliant than ever, took Anna’s hand into his, and breathed a little close drawn sigh of content.
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