"When a man reaches the lowest scale through drink, we call him a beachcomber. “Gods!” cried Ann Veronica, and kept him standing. He drew her close up to him with a strong, steady pull. She observed the tides, amazed by how high the water could rise, almost touching the tops of the cliffs. Wary they might be. The young male, as she had actually seen him, had been of the sailor type, hard-bitten, primordial, ruthless.
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