He muttered a
little and at last managed to utter, not loud of course but very
distinctly: "I am here under protest," the corners of his mouth sunk
disparagingly, his eyes stony. "I am here under protest. I have been
locked up by a conspiracy. I--"
He raised his hands to his forehead--his silk hat was on the table rim
upwards; he had put it there with a despairing gesture as he came in--he
raised his hands to his forehead. "It seems to me unfair. I--" He
broke off again. Anthony looked at Flora who stood by the side of her
father.
"Well, sir, you will soon get used to me. Surely you and she must have
had enough of shore-people and their confounded half-and-half ways to
last you both for a life-time. A particularly merciful lot they are too.
You ask Flora. I am alluding to my own sister, her best friend, and not
a bad woman either as they go."
The captain of the _Ferndale_ checked himself. "Lucky thing I was there
to step in. I want you to make yourself at home, and before long--"
The faded stare of the Great de Barral silenced Anthony by its
inexpressive fixity.
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