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He held her eyes. A bad man, in fact. For a moment she thought of saying yes, and then filled with shame. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. I next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer. Clear water gave away to gray as she waded deeper, feeling her slippers on rock. It was from Brendon.
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