"I think the natives saw you coming out of the lagoon, one dawn. ‘And since the entire company and Pottiswick himself were unable to find hide nor hair of the infernal French female—’ ‘English, Hilary,’ Gerald reminded him. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. Wood.
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