Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. "Is that all? Then learn from me that your hopes are visionary as their foundation. Her hair is like, white blonde, but trust me, it’s not her natural color. I am suspected of having shot the man. I feel that I shall stifle unless I can do something—and do something soon. Wild here presently.
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