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The
lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam
commandeered from the Victoria. ”
Chapter XIX
“THIS IS NOT THE END”
“I said some afternoon,” she remarked, throwing open her warm coat, and taking
off her gloves, “but I certainly did not mean to-day. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements,
the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. Yes—as he would have liked. Her personal maidservant, the first she had ever had in
her life, was joyful for her. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. The books would be soaked and
ruined in the rain anyway through the thin skin of the
pack. "You are not. Carried out to sea by Van Galgebrok,
and thrown overboard, while struggling with the waves, he had been picked up
by a French fishing-boat, and carried to Ostend. "Impossible!" exclaimed the widow, wildly. The completest capitulation would not wipe out that trouble. Socks and shoes were harder to
find, and she ended up wearing men’s athletic tube socks
and a pair of dust caked flip-flops that had sat forlornly in
Locker 49 since 1978. The
infant was rescued from a watery-grave by an honest mechanic, who has since
brought him up as his own son. “Excellent!” he exclaimed. She dropped beside
the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 28-06-2024 10:46:28