“What’s going on with you?” John asked inquisitively, looking down at her abdomen. Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. For the past four weeks mirrors had been her delight, a new toy. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun.
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