The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun. “You were born for great things,” he said huskily. ‘Hilary!’ The captain appeared, alert at the note in his major’s voice as Gerald had known he would be. He was the social order; he was law and wisdom. A young lad—Roding took him for a footman, or a groom by the neat black garb—was halted some paces away from Valade, his hat in his hand as he made pretence of fanning himself. What right had she to call herself “Alcide”? It was abominable, an imposture. Jack seemed glad enough to rest, his back against the wall, and closed his eyes. He did like her, anyhow; he was always pleased to be with her. Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners.
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