As far as I recollect, there were two. Prior to the great adventure, her mirrors had been the still pools in the rocks after the ebb. They conversed, or more or less she interviewed him. She listened, listened intently for several minutes. Happy Thanksgiving. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun.
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