‘Bon. ’ He frowned again. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun. At the door to the kitchen, he called out, ‘Pottiswick!’ The old man came out, shoving his chin in the air and glaring. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words.
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