She reached for the door handle. ‘It is London’s loss, ma’am. ” Anna had suddenly stiffened. ” She replied with a rehearsed answer, “I was told that my real mother died the day I was born. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. “Mike, what’s going on?” She sat up, groggily rubbing her eyes. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved. Good night.
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