Sean Dimond

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Stephen’s eyes were remote; his cheeks hollow, lined and dirty; his hair straggled over his face: he might well have been mad, or in another state – removed. The man glanced at his grave neighbours, felt their qualified approval, and called out, ‘Grandmother, here is a holy man of thy caste who from piety will buy the child and take it down: he will also provide the wood.’ More conversation – cries – and a dead silence. Stephen felt the man thrust the purse back into his bosom, patting and arranging his shirt round the string. After a moment he stood up. Dil’s face was infinitely calm; the ...more
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HMS Surprise (Aubrey & Maturin, #3)
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