He squatted and threw his arm around the backs of her knees. “I have a message from your sister. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. They were now both in a state of unprecedented physical fitness. ‘While you are making me this interrogation, my poor Jacques bleeds to death. I like you very much, I haven’t known you enough to love you, no matter how worthy you are of love.
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