‘I trust you are cursing Valade, and not Melusine. As soon as he gets into blue water, he'll think no more of pitching the boy overboard than of lighting his pipe. Jack fell on his knees beside her. His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting.
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