Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. 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.
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