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Chapter 3

           likeMillyslittleonesnowwhensherunsupthestairsIlovedlookingdownatthemIwasjumpingupatthepeppertreesandthewhitepoplarspullingtheleavesoffandthrowingthemathimhewenttoIndiahewastowritethevoyagesthosemenhavetomaketotheendsoftheworldandbackitstheleasttheymightgetasqueezeortwoatawomanwhiletheycangoingouttobedrownedorblownupsomewhereIwentupWindmillhilltotheflatsthatSundaymorningwithcaptainRubiosthatwasdeadspyglasslikethesentryhadhesaidhedhaveoneortwofromonboardIworethatfrockfromtheBMarcheparisandthecoralnecklacethestraitsshiningIcouldseeovertoMoroccoalmostthebayofTangierwhiteandtheAtlasmountainwithsnowonitandthestraitslikeariversoclearHarryMollydarlingIwasthinkingofhimontheseaallthetimeafteratmasswhenmypetticoatbegantoslipdownattheelevationweeksandweeksIkeptthehandkerchiefundermypillowforthesmellofhimtherewasnodecentperfumetobegotinthatGibraltaronlythatcheappeaudEspagnethatfadedandleftastinkonyoumorethananythingelseIwantedtogivehimamementohegavemethatclumsyCladdaghringforluckthatIgaveGardnergoingtosouthAfricawherethoseBoerskilledhimwiththeirwarandfeverbuttheywerewellbeatenallthesameasifitbroughtitsbadluckwithitlikeanopalorpearlstillitmusthavebeenpure18carrotgoldbecauseitwasveryheavybutwhatcouldyougetinaplacelikethatthesandfrogshowerfromAfricaandthatderelictshipthatcameuptotheharbourMarietheMariewhatyoucallit

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