Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Here they were regaled with another plentiful meal by the hospitable carpenter, who personally superintended the repast. Evidently he was gazing at the dull red roofs of the city: but was he registering what he saw? Never glance sideways at man, the old Kanaka woman had said. The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. "There's Sharples," cried Quilt. ‘Gabbling and muttering in a foreign tongue, that’s what I heard, sir,’ had declared the gap-toothed ancient, when he told them of the initial foray he had made, sneaking around the house in the dark.
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