Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Gerald, meanwhile, was off hunting up these lawyers, together with your son, ma’am—’ turning to Mrs Sindlesham ‘—and you know the outcome of that. "Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear.
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