Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint. They had asked her to come to the first of the two great annual Fadden Dances, the October one, and Ann Veronica had accepted with enthusiasm. He opened the drawer of the writing table. The evening was warm and inviting, one meant to be spent outdoors. White rang the bell. “Oh. Let her see if she could manage this one, perhaps turn all to suit herself? ‘What do you think to do with me now?’ The captain lowered the pistol. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved.
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