Surely Capes was different. But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. He grabbed her hair viciously and whispered loudly into her tear-streaked face. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun. He was a Canton guide, highly educated, having been graduated from Yale University. ‘I am not a murderer.
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