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‘I think you’ve gone stark, staring crazy. Want to walk home today? Lucy slipped the paper into her English textbook. Without a word, without a sign, Enschede started toward the beach, where his proa waited. He made Hong-Kong at dusk: wet, hungry, and a bit groggy for the want of sleep; but he was in no wise discouraged. I have often felt before that it is only when one has nothing to say that one can write easy poetry. ‘Have no fear,’ he uttered soothingly, reaching out to pat her free hand. Sorrows and danger and disappointment she had known. . He touched it again, and this time it was not withdrawn.
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