“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
man, was just finishing up his accounts. Mrs Trevelyan cast a dazzling smile upon him, and he, behind his grating, felt instantly like an eagle imprisoned in a cage with his mate soaring in the blue vault above.
“Let me see the second-cabin list, if you please,” she said in her sweetest tones.
“Certainly,” he smiled back at her, “the ship is yours if you want it, Mrs. Trevelyan.”
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