She produced from the depths of her pride the ugly investigatory note of the modern district visitor. Not then. She dived at once behind the cover of the lamproom and affected serious trouble with her shoe-lace until he was out of the station, and then she followed slowly and with extreme discretion until the bifurcation of the Avenue from the field way insured her escape. Let me run you for six months. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust.
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