” Brendon reappeared, followed by a tall thin man with a stubbly brown moustache and restless grey eyes. Worse than any man. Again, he would ask a few questions, and Ruth would answer them. "So did I," answered Jack; "we had better move on. "Heaven help us!" he exclaimed; "we were mad to neglect the old sailor's advice. Brown engaged in the usual browbeating and complaining he reserved for sections who came in late and soloists who left tempo behind like the leftovers of a Sunday picnic.
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