It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. Balked, Melusine halted. There was no reason why she shouldn’t be Capes’ friend. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. But I do hope, Vee, I do hope—this is the end of these adventures. ‘I don’t want that girl running her head into any more danger.
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