“Mid-thirties. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. I’ve never met any one like you. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. On the other hand, you seldom revere your immediate grandfather, unless he has promised to leave you some money. I followed you in. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun. At length, the body was brought towards him.
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