The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach. . " "If he had only been my father!—McClintock!" "God didn't standardize human beings, Ruth; no grain of wheat is like another. She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun.
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