The skipper, Van Galgebrok, affirmed to me,—nay, gave me the additional testimony of two of his crew,—that he was thrown overboard. It’s exactly how it went down with me and Josh Durbin. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. "Where is he?" asked she, in an agitated whisper.
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