“Martin, I don’t know what to say. "Weigh anchor, Van!" he shouted to the skipper, "and consult your despatches. ’ She gave him a straight look. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. She was glad not to be baking in it anymore, or feeling the fiberglass splinters 64 invading her rear end from sitting on the bleachers. Consternation gripped him.
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