The poor things! Oh, it was quite dreadful. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. ’ The captain shook his head. I was—I was a corespondent. “John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house. Softly she rose to her feet. He kept at it even on those nights when the monsoon began to break with heavy storms and he had to weight down with stones everything on his table.
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