Wood thought them both remarkably plain, but Mr. Spurlock lay with his head on his arms, asleep. There was only one clean spot in the picture—the ship's wash (all white) that fluttered on a line stretched between the two masts. I don’t want to Bowdlerize Shakespeare. Marina had retired to bed, drinking wine slowly, sleeping when she was not drinking. When he awoke it was late in the day, and raining heavily.
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