The skipper obeyed, and in another moment, they swept through the narrow lock. ‘The gatehouse? But why must you move him at all?’ ‘Listen, missie. Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. You need fear no interruption from him, or any of his myrmidons. “Sit down,” he said, and perused—“perused” is the word for it—for some moments. This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation. It'll be your turn to save mine next.
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