It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. Rank ingratitude, I call it. Now there is none. ’ ‘Yes, but I’m hanged if I see what your game is. “Lucy, do you forgive me?” She looked at him in earnest. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. ‘I am nine-and-twenty,’ he answered. The elements were wrathful as their passions. Yet before she turned once more to resume her flight she schooled herself with an effort to look where it had happened. ‘When we met probably, and you threatened me at the first. “Promise me that you’ll never tell another living soul, John. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest.
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