It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. Ann Veronica tried to keep hold of a complicated situation and not lose her head. ‘I—I mean, she were—’ ‘Pretty as a picture?’ suggested Gerald. “What has he to do with it?” “He was your sister’s master—her friend. Why had he offered her that kiss on board The Tigress? Perhaps that had been his hour of disenchantment. The light was poor, so that she saw their gleaming faces dimly and indistinctly. He was twenty-nine at the time, practically an old man.
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