His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. “Do you play an instrument?” “I play the fiddle sometimes. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. White leaned forward in her chair with an anxious smile designed to throw oil upon the troubled waters. “And I have dragged you all over here for nothing,” she murmured.
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