To her, marriage would be a buckler against the two evils which pursued her. And we’re going to fight that old world down there. “You are late,” she murmured. Her heart failed her and her resolution became water. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. Sometimes at sea a skipper will order his men to trim, batten down the hatches, and clear the deck of all litter. If you can imagine it, I survived it.
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