I wrenched this off, and in an envelope addressed to me in faded ink, I found the locket and the pearls. Cased and ribbed with stone, and braced with horizontal beams of timber, the piles, which formed the foundation of these jetties, had resisted the strong encroachments of the current for centuries. Something that is born anew each time we meet, and pines when we are separated. Only she hadn’t. . .
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