Some day I'm going to paint her; but that will be when I've retired. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. He started a dozen stories, but they all ended in the waste-basket. " "Egad, Jack," said Gay, "you should write your adventures. He is here by your side. "Lost no time on the road—eh!—I didn't expect you till to-morrow at the earliest.
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