"Because—because I'm always distrustful of a priest," rejoined Jonathan. ‘But you said—’ Gerald tutted. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. She decided to go on, after a momentary halt. All men are bloody fucking hypocrites. I have said your life is in danger, Thames.
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