The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. It was also cold, and dark, for there had been no time to light the lantern. "Coward!" cried Kneebone. Her eyebrows were lifted in expostulation. She could now see to read; so she stirred the manuscript about until she came upon the first page. Fresh flowers of loveliness have budded, expanded, died.
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