" "I don't care for that," replied Jack. " "Odd's me! do you think so?" cried the host of the Trumpeter. She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical. ‘She won’t like it,’ prophesied the captain gloomily. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. ‘Sapristi,’ he shouted angrily.
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