’ Madame Valade reseated herself, and Gerald set himself to flatter her into relaxation again. 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. Curiosity to see what a sing-song girl was like took possession of Ruth's thoughts. Mother? Suzanne Valade, her mother? With deliberation, he spoke. “I’m sorry, ma’am, to seem the cause of any disturbance, but this,” he pointed to Anna, “is my wife.
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