She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. A black-garbed figure crept forward, noiselessly, towards Gosse’s back. "I tell 'ee what, master, if you're more fortinate nor I am, and get ashore, give old saltwater your fare. Then she went below. And all the old—the old trick of shrinking up like a snail at a touch.
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