. ‘What?’ Roding snapped, coming quickly to tower above the window seat. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. She had never had a pet, never had a real doll. Once a sick sailor drew three pictures for me and set down every stay and brace and sail—square-rigger, schooner, and sloop. Her heart thudded.
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