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Updated: May 1, 2025
And indeed there was no more question of my mysterious vocation between us. There was to be no more question of it at all, nowhere or with any one. We began the descent of the Furca Pass conversing merrily. Eleven years later, month for month, I stood on Tower Hill on the steps of the St. Katherine's Dockhouse, a master in the British Merchant Service.
And indeed there was no more question of my mysterious vocation between us. There was to be no more question of it at all, no where or with any one. We began the descent of the Furca Pass conversing merrily. Eleven years later, month for month, I stood on Tower Hill on the steps of the St. Katherine's Dockhouse, a master in the British Merchant Service.
I remember seeing Her Grace the Duchess of Marlborough sitting hour after hour on a baggage truck, waiting for her heavy luggage to come off the tardy tender and up the languid chute into the big dusty dockhouse.
He moved lightly, though the girl could see in the half-darkness that his hair was silvery. "What do you mean?" she questioned, sharply. "You hurry along, miss; we'll toy with 'em till you're aboard." They stepped across to the dockhouse, backing against it. The girl followed. Again came the warning blast from the steamer, and the voice of an officer: "Clear away that stern line!"
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