Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. En tout cas, why had he not returned? She pondered the question as, later, she paced about her favourite retreat. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. "Well, Joan," said the benevolent mechanic, after he had looked at her steadfastly for a few moments, "what say you?—silence gives consent, eh?" Mrs. .
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