In one of the cabins a man sat on the edge of his narrow bunk. Pottiswick had mentioned muttering. If the Wastrel had not turned the instant he did, the ball would have missed him; as it was he turned directly into its path. He had deliberately saved it for last. “It couldn’t be. You shall know the truth. She waited expectantly. ‘Perhaps she don’t understand English,’ suggested Roding. ” He chuckled, wincing at the thought.
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