She stared at his pleading face. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. " "Fool!" cried Wild, taking up the body, "what are you afraid of? After all," he added, pausing, "he may be of more use to me alive than dead. Cut it as short as you can. " "No fear of that," laughed Kneebone.
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