" O'Higgins was disarming the doctor. YOU did. Jackson, to the swig. No one spoke, and she was impelled to flounder on. And now she comprehended that the man (she had never known him by any name) knew she had surprised the look and had not resented it. "Miss Enschede, you're seven kinds of a brick!" "A brick?" He chuckled. There was a trader—a man who bought copra and pearls. Which were perfectly true, as Gerald was aware. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. Michelle walked up the concrete porch steps, gesturing to Lucy to do the same.
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