Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Immediately she had spoken of the loose button he knew that henceforth he must show no concern over the disposition of that coat. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. We both understood that.
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