She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Gerald exchanged a puzzled glance with his friend. There's nothing so sad in this world as an old fool," she added. He followed. ” “The faults are the best part of it,” said Ann Veronica; “why, even our little vicious strains run the same way. After all, she only LOOKED a woman.
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