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There were two sisters, you know. From one window the beach was always visible; from another, the stores. The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. “I am tired,” she said, “and I want to rest. I had no idea. She did not enter the cabin at once, but paused on the threshold and stared at the silent, recumbent figure in the bunk. She had a political cartoon from 1785 that showed a tall man in a cape, a caricature of a French politico that looked suspiciously like him.
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