Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. “I find it very hard to write this letter. ” She watched his face as he traced his way through these speculative thickets. ” She put her wrists upon his shoulders, feeling him surge with the pride of his own masculinity as she touched him. Cheveney was looking after her, I think, then. Once a sick sailor drew three pictures for me and set down every stay and brace and sail—square-rigger, schooner, and sloop. Her thought spoke aloud.
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