It was now a quarter past twelve. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. " "I will yield it to no one but its mother," answered Wood. \"I'm not hungry either, I'm still worked up from that game. At the opening of the van doors and the emergence into the fresh air Ann Veronica’s doubt and depression gave place to the wildest exhilaration. But no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same. " Neither man spoke.
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