He would certainly welcome McClintock's advent. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. She could feel his eyes surreptiously scanning her backside. For five days The Tigress chugged her way across the burnished South China, grumpily, as if she resented this meddling with her destiny. In a voice husky with suppressed despair, she answered. The future Mrs Roding turned bright, laughing eyes on the major.
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