It is Anna again who stands between me and ruin. Their minds are turned against him. Wood's," was the reply. One glance swept across the place and it was immediately apparent that Pottiswick had not, this time, been mistaken. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. She was perplexed by this, and stood for some seconds in the empty street hesitating, until the appearance of another circumspect woman under the street lamp at the corner reassured her. It was.
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