The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. "Fire! That was what drew me to you in the beginning. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. 219 “Some in Europe, a few down south, none here. Wood the carpenter. "Excuse me," he said, plunging his fork into a fowl, and transferring it to his plate.
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