For five days The Tigress chugged her way across the burnished South China, grumpily, as if she resented this meddling with her destiny. You steered and I rowed stroke. A distant suggestion of chalets and a glimpse of the road set them talking for a time of the world they had left behind. Think! Had you not better hurry back before Sir John discovers? You are his wife right enough. ‘Sapristi,’ he gasped. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had.
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