Sensitive, aren’t they?” She chuckled. “Well, I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. She seemed smitten with a paroxysm of fear. He proceeded to the deck, where Ruth and McClintock were waiting for him by the ladder. If this is the young lady, she can perhaps calm him. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room.
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