167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. My reception at West Kensington you know of. True, on board the ships she had watched young men from afar, but only with that normal curiosity which is aroused in the presence of any new species. Left to Capting Roding, as he told me hisself, you’d be in prison this moment.
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