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And with it came a breeze, a moving, briny, bay-cooled breeze that stirred the grass with a whisper of night. Once more I had worked round to the road. It ran on ahead of me, up a bushy dune, and forked, one branch leading off to the lighthouse, the other straight out to the beach, out against the white of the breaking waves. The evening purple was deepening on the bay when I mounted the dune.
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