The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. Ennison’s signet-ring had cut nearly to the bone. God had never answered any of her prayers. "You must have made some exertion to keep your present appointment. You have been going out every morning, and coming home late—tired out—too tired to come down to dinner.
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