Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. Ruth took hers in the sea, but was careful never to go beyond her depth because of the sharks. ‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with indecipherable meanings. ’ A peal of laughter came from the girl.
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