elizabethbailey. They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. A species of vertigo seized him. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. He would always be her friend, too. Now it is—’ ‘What are you doing still here, missie, that’s what I’d like to know?’ demanded the man Trodger, sticking to his guns.
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