I can't concentrate on my work. One morning, as he took his stand on the Hong-Kong packet dock to ambush the possible tourist, he witnessed the arrival of a tubby schooner, dirty gray and blotched as though she had run through fire. “You haven’t seen him in three hundred years?” He asked. There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. “I love this warm end of summer more than words can tell,” he said.
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