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CHAPTER X. “Sir John!” Annabel gasped. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. She tried to appear as if she had never been questioned before. “I think she would,” she decided. But there was, it insisted, no mobility in his face, no movement, nothing about him that warmed. I'm ashamed to say that I was too much terrified to scream out—but ran and hid myself.
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