But
Wolverstone went on heedlessly.
"I'll be nice wi' a wench as long as niceness be the key to her
favour. But sink me now if I'd rot myself in rum on account of
anything that wears a petticoat. That's not the Old Wolf's way.
If there's no other expedition'll tempt you, why not Port Royal?
What a plague do it matter if it is an English settlement? It's
commanded by Colonel Bishop, and there's no lack of rascals in your
company'd follow you to hell if it meant getting Colonel Bishop by
the throat. It could be done, I tell you. We've but to spy the
chance when the Jamaica fleet is away. There's enough plunder in
the town to tempt the lads, and there's the wench for you. Shall
I sound them on 't?"
Blood was on his feet, his eyes blazing, his livid face distorted.
"Ye'll leave my cabin this minute, so ye will, or, by Heaven, it's
your corpse'll be carried out of it. Ye mangy hound, d'ye dare
come to me with such proposals?"
He fell to cursing his faithful officer with a virulence the like
of which he had never yet been known to use.
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