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"How do you know?" Lucy asked, looking at the incoming schooner from under her half-closed lids. The voice came like the thin piping of a flute preceding the orchestral crash, merely sounded so as to let everybody know it was present. "One of my carriages was shipped by her. I paid Captain Farguson the freight just before I went away." "What's her name?" slight tremolo only a note or two.
As she sat looking out to sea, Max's brain still at work on the problem of her unusual mood, a schooner shifted her mainsail in the light breeze and set her course for the inlet. "That's the regular weekly packet," Max ventured. "She's making for Farguson's ship-yard. She runs between Amboy and Barnegat Captain Ambrose Farguson sails her." At times like these any topic was good enough to begin on.
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