‘Up, Jacques, up,’ she ordered. He was just getting cross about your being late for dinner—you know his way—when it came. Still, I suppose Melusine can always sell the house. She tucked the mission Bible under her arm, and crooking a finger at Rollo, went forth to the west beach where the sou'-west surge piled up muddily, burdened with broken spars, crates, boxes, and weeds.
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