Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. He forces an engagement upon her. “But a boy—a boy goes out into the world and presently stands on his own feet. A woman hard to read, who seemed to delight in keeping locked up behind that fascinating rigidity of feature the intense sensibility which had been revealed to him, her master, only in occasional and rare moments of enthusiasm. The world is like a peppery horse. Because she states her case in a tangle, drags it through swamps of nonsense, it doesn’t alter the fact that she is right.
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