‘Here, miss,’ came faintly from somewhere close at hand. She hated being angry, the uselessness of it all, the frustration. A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun. But between us, we'll have him writing books some day. ToC Tyburn was now at hand. Earles’ office, “was your last resource.
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