Her brother Roddy, who was in the motor line, came to expostulate; her sister Alice wrote. Once a sick sailor drew three pictures for me and set down every stay and brace and sail—square-rigger, schooner, and sloop. He said nothing. ‘Coward,’ she threw at him, brandishing the sword. Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines of mouth and chin and cheek. Hitherto it had been qualified by her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be unexacting of life.
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