Wood fared still worse. She was always asking questions about her mother and supplying the answers. "I give you all of my genius, and you say—'Get out!' I am some kind of a dog. " "You don't remember your mother?" "Oh, no; she died when I was very little. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships.
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