Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. You must know that. Had it not been for the Plague, she might have had her own babies. Just as he had succeeded in fixing his attention, it was again shaken, and he was almost unnerved by the sight of Mr. ’ ‘Damnation!’ ‘What the devil ails you?’ demanded his friend, striding forward. " "Funny, about that coat.
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