‘Silence,’ he warned again, with a prod of the dagger at her heart. She doubted if Manning would even listen to that. The cry was echoed by twenty different voices. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. They found a cosy little table in the tea-rooms, and everything was delicious. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun.
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