I cannot think he will welcome a French émigré for his granddaughter. ‘I suppose you think I can’t manage it myself,’ had complained Captain Roding sarcastically. Seemed like he knew so much—more than me, miss. She felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. I pledged my thumb that, dead or alive, I'd pay the wager if I lost; and I should like to be as good as my word.
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