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He went off to his so-called hotel. In his room, by the light of the kerosene-lamp, he took out the envelope and reed what she had written. It was: Vanessa Simola, Claridon, Michigan. He turned over the envelope and looked at the address on the other side, in his own handwriting: Miss Janet Spencer, Tawnleytown.... And the envelope dropped from his nerveless fingers to the table.
The first reasonable thought that came to Harber, when he was convinced of the authenticity of the miracle, was that he was free free to go after the girl he loved, after Vanessa Simola. I think that if he could have done it, he'd have turned the steamer back to the Orient in that moment. The thought that the ship was plunging eastward through a waste of smashing heavy seas was maddening, no less!
But she'll understand... yes...." He went back to the fire, poured out another half-cup of coffee, and tasted it. "H'm yes. It's good, I think it's good." He took a bit of rag, wiped the pot carefully, and set it back. Then he looked at the clock. "They ought to be at Aittamaki by now or Simola at least...."
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