“Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. She taught him how to sail a proa, how to hack open a milk-coconut, how to relish bamboo sprouts. ’ ‘But I have told you not,’ she protested. ‘So now we come to it. . Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands.
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