Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Michelle began to shadow her at school. Her sleepless night had left her languid but not stupefied, and for an hour or so the work distracted her altogether from her troubles. ‘What, miss?’ asked Jack Kimble from behind her. "'Odd's-my-life!—what's that?" he cried, greatly alarmed.
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