” The figure of her aunt, a little distant, a little propitiatory, behind the coffee things, filled her with a sense of almost catastrophic adventure. Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray. Little more’n a week. " "I'll not forget it. Pitt?" "Certainly, Sir James, certainly," replied the governor. ‘Pitiful. I’m damaged goods.
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