” She spat in his face. It was something you were supposed to return, so she raced through all the television shows that she had watched over the years. The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. An ugly flush stained his cheeks. That register would be easy to get at; comforting thought. It had been discussed in silence. Before she put on her sun-helmet, she paused before the mirror. The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned.
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