The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. “It’s either now or never,” said Ann Veronica, again ascending this stile. So she approached him with sandwiches. At the sound of the door Ann Veronica uncovered a tearless face, and with one swift movement assumed a conversational attitude.
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