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” Anna looked at her steadily. To settle things, you know. I don't know; I really don't know," she found herself repeating. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. She had gone into Morgan's one afternoon for a bag of salt. "I don't see why I should be obliged to pay for doing my duty.
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