I didn’t think—I don’t know what I thought. Once a sick sailor drew three pictures for me and set down every stay and brace and sail—square-rigger, schooner, and sloop. ‘Italian adventurer,’ explained her fiance briefly. “Perhaps one talks nonsense about a woman’s instinct,” she said. She went further: she doubted that he was fully conscious of where he was. On the present occasion, he appeared to have bestowed more than ordinary attention on his toilette. She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window. Even in the daylight, it had a sombre and suspicious air, and seemed to slink back from the adjoining houses, as if afraid of their society. Apparently, Jonathan perceived he was an object of scrutiny; for, hastily dismissing his attendant, he walked towards the knight. Thames Darrell.
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