She had begun alone. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. She could tell that he was leering at her. Brown engaged in the usual browbeating and complaining he reserved for sections who came in late and soloists who left tempo behind like the leftovers of a Sunday picnic. Its very calmness was frightful. Unwillingly he drew a little nearer, and became one of the group of loiterers about the entrance. He made her tell him the core of the difficulty. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun.
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