Once a sick sailor drew three pictures for me and set down every stay and brace and sail—square-rigger, schooner, and sloop. “I don’t know. "You are my prisoner, Jack. ” She turned and fitted the latchkey into the door. ‘Shocked you, have I? We weren’t mealy-mouthed in my day, my boy. Walking into the bedroom, she quickly shed the miniskirt and sweater, folding them without ceremony.
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