But escape to where? She thought of the ships that sailed from the peninsulas to hot deserts where spices were traded. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. ‘It is in no way your affair, monsieur, and you will unhand me at once. She felt sharp animal teeth pierce her above her shoulder. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes.
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