Jason Pryde

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His wife, a dumpy plain woman with a roll of faded dry hair bristling with wire hairpins, observed the scene with her habitual expression, long ago settled into a blend of constant disapproval and righteous ill-humor. “It is only to make a show in the beginning,” she remarked. “They will begin to economize on all of us before the trip is over. A new broom,” she said, “sweeps clean.”
Ship of Fools
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