Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Was he really awake? The arrival and departure of this strange father lacked the essential human touch to make it real. Never for a moment had violence come between these two since long ago he had, in spite of her mother’s protest in the background, carried her kicking and squalling to the nursery for some forgotten crime.
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