"My horses, Charcam," he said, as a servant appeared. Once a sick sailor drew three pictures for me and set down every stay and brace and sail—square-rigger, schooner, and sloop. He might have been a complete innocent, she did not know and did not bother to find out. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. "He must be somewhere hereabouts," cried one of the horsemen, dismounting. Her hormones were raging stupidly.
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