Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. "It's a whale of a place. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had. Of course, one doesn’t like to talk about things until there are things to talk about. Looked like them statues of the Holy Mother I see about the place.
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