Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Anna looked at her, startled. What a pity! But why? There was no way over this puzzle, nor under it, nor around it: that men should drink, knowing the inevitable payment. “Do you know that boy very well, Shar?” Cathy Beck yelled in the general direction of the lavatory.
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