It was the moment for smiles. Once a sick sailor drew three pictures for me and set down every stay and brace and sail—square-rigger, schooner, and sloop. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. You see, I kidnapped poor Jack and made him promise to send me word if you went careering off anywhere. ’ ‘For shame, Hilary,’ admonished his fiancée, casting a pitying glance at the refugees. I wonder if I should have locked you up if I’d been your father.
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