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It might be about two o'clock in the afternoon, that we reached a long and ruinous bridge, seemingly of great antiquity, and which, as I was informed by my guide, was called the bridge of Don Alonzo. It crossed a species of creek, or rather frith, for the sea was at no considerable distance, and the small town of Noyo lay at our right.
"When we have crossed that bridge, captain," said my guide, "we shall be in an unknown country, for I have never been farther than Noyo, and as for Finisterra, so far from having been there, I never heard of such a place; and though I have inquired of two or three people since we have been upon this expedition, they know as little about it as I do.
The mettlesome little doctor felt the odds against him in the exchange of greetings. "Ola, Dawctah!" "Hé, Doctah, que-ce qui t'après fé?" "Ho, ho, compère Noyo!" "Comment va, Docta?" A light peppering of profanity accompanied each salute.
Nobody told me you were coming, but I just knew, when I heard the Noyo whistling as she made the dock, that you were aboard, and I didn't look up when you entered the office because I wanted to verify my my suspicion." "You had a hunch, Moira. Do you get those telepathic messages very often?" He was crossing the office to shake her hand.
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