He had finally put aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head. She could still smell the now familiar scent of him on the girl's body in the makeshift grave. Sometimes at sea a skipper will order his men to trim, batten down the hatches, and clear the deck of all litter. She pulled her veil down, and he knew that silence was best. But I must—I ought—” “I MUST talk about this.
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