CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. Are you doing okay in that shirt? You seem uncomfortable. Rollo began to cavort. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. To my loving parents and brothers, and my Aunts, Gail and Barb.
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