Slowly welling from the point of her gold nib pale blue ink dissolved the full stop for there her pen stuck her eyes fixed and tears slowly filled them The entire bay quivered the lighthouse wobbled and she had the illusion that the mast of Mr Connors little yacht was bending like a wax candle in the sun
She winked quickly Accidents were awful things She winked again The mast was straight the waves were regular the lighthouse was upright but t...
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