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See what you have made of me. Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them. But it was hopelessly hard to put. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 30-09-2024 11:45:07