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She was a catboat, twenty feet long and almost as wide.

A catboat was just leaving the harbor as we sailed in.

Mr. Bradley’s father built the half-hull model of a red catboat that hangs near the restaurant’s pay phone.

Whole bright days of spring and early summer they spent out in Roke Bay in light catboats, practicing steering by word, and stilling waves, and speaking to the world’s wind, and raising up the magewind.

There was not wind enough to take a catboat from Hancock’s Wharf to Noddle Island.