Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Pearls in the dawn light, flashing and burning! "You don't like your island?" "I hate it!… But, there!"—weariness edging in. Courtlaw opened his lips, but remained silent in the face of her imperative gesture. If she mentioned Ramage he might have a fit—anything might happen. ‘I hope I do not understand you.
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