A fortnight passed, then a month. ” “Be very sure that you do,” Anna said slowly. “My dad is into this stuff. And yet—you millionaires should really, I think, cultivate the art of discrimination. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust.
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