9. And Charcam, fearful of another charge in his master's present uncertain mood, disappeared. He would certainly welcome McClintock's advent. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. In the periphery of her vision, she saw the door pulled back. She dared not say the word aloud, not even to herself. “And yet in a very few weeks I shall have done with it all.
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