She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. For a moment, Kneebone had hesitated about giving the signal to Shotbolt, but, thinking a more favourable opportunity might occur, he determined not to hazard matters by undue precipitation. He depended upon her, for his medicine, for his drink, for the little amusement it was now permissible to give him. "Since the sea has spared him, I will spare him. ” She spotted a beer bottle and picked it up from the ground. Not wisely but too well. He drew her closer. Perhaps I may borrow yours one day?’ ‘Lucilla, you wretch,’ burst from the captain.
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