He remained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance roving investigatingly. “It’s okay. "What proof have you of the truth of this story?" inquired Trenchard. “May I ask whether you are staying with friends in town?” he inquired deferentially. This last operation was so fatiguing, that for a short time he was obliged to pause to recover the use of his fingers. She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. ’ ‘But you are not a surgeon,’ protested Melusine.
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