The two little fishermen, (if you could call them that, for they looked decidedly bourgeois, and out of place on the riverbank), were always half-risen in alarm. But at what? I couldn't tell, they were fixed, little ink paintings on a teacup, their intruder obliterated by a china handle. Dear little men, they looked so perturbed, though I expect the fish were probably quite glad to escape their glances.
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