But they were too late. He loved the sea, and could give a good account of himself in any weather. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. I have a hundred of them—mixed blood—on my island, and they are always rooking me. ‘And me—’ ‘You, mademoiselle, are more trouble than you’re worth, and I’ll thank you to —’ ‘Hilary, don’t,’ said Lucy, and Melusine’s rising temper cooled a little.
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