’ Gerald shrugged. A note of belligerency had crept into his tone. ” He turned to the waiter, who held a wine-card. ” Mike parroted in a nasal tone. ’ She bit her lip and thought deeply. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. There were moments when she thought of turning upon this man and talking to him. He looked distant, irritated. It was she who had come out from the flat only a few minutes before. She was to be a Corsair’s Bride.
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