. Beyond the steps was a pole-chair in readiness. You wouldn't rob Mr. Bête, she told herself fiercely. “Well,” he said, argumentatively, “it IS. Things happen out this way. The watermen, who manned the larger wherry, immediately shipped their oars, grappled with the drifting skiff, and held it fast. You should go home today and get some rest. His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. You never can tell.
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