Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. "Don't look at it, I entreat," she cried. " As Jack made no reply, the woman proceeded. " "Pity!" shrieked the widow. He screamed in pain, doubling over with a howl as she stumbled out of the bed. Jack was so harrassed that he felt half inclined to stand at bay. One more passer-by; and always would she remember his patience and tenderness and disinterestedness.
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