He stopped with a little shock, for her face was a mask of tears.
"Dearest, dearest, it's only an old, sad story. It has nothing to do with us. Claire-Anne—"
"Is any story old, Shane? Is any story ever new? Isn't it always the same story?"
She looked at the dagger for an instant more, and put it down with a little sob.
"Poor gentleman!"
§ 9
From his cabin below he could hear the Belfast mate roaring at the helmsman:
"What kind of steering do you call that? Look at your damned wake. Like an eel's wriggle. Keep her full, and less of your damned luffin'."
"Keep her full, sir!" the steersman repeated.
"Look at your foretopsail! Bouse it, blast ye! Bouse it! You Skye cutthroats!"