Ah Cum was not a sailor, but he knew his water-front. It was apparent, and then it faded into the quality of an inevitable necessity. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. Gosse backed, not even attempting to parry so unorthodox a use of the foil. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that.
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