Once a sick sailor drew three pictures for me and set down every stay and brace and sail—square-rigger, schooner, and sloop. “I wonder if it is. We are amiable to one another, but we don’t mix. ” Her father’s irony deepened. The girl’s eyes never left his face. “Round midnight, I think. He paced faster, stomping around. ‘Well, sir, if I’ve to choose betwixt him and you, I’ll take you, no question. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. "Put your arms about me. He might not condone it, but the feelings that had prompted it augured well for Melusine’s safety.
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