’ ‘So you think she is an émigré?’ Lucilla put in before the incensed Roding could respond. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. “Here,” he said, “is this Blau See, and here we rest until to-morrow.
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