After occupying himself thus for the best part of an hour, he thought Jack must have given him the slip. Like the nuns, she hardly ever looked in a mirror. ‘I’ll make it, miss. Before midnight, your nephew shall be safe beneath the hatches of the Zeeslang. She climbed back into the window an hour before sunrise. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak.
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