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. Noise. Nakedness. The Captain in a grass skirt, dancing heartily, and the orchestra keeping step with him. Some of the lady passengers wearing grass skirts and some wearing even less. Rattle of bamboo, boom of drums.
Drums -
Those weren't drums in my head; that was the booming of the worst headache of my life. Why in Ned did I let them -
Never mind 'them'. You did it yourself, chum.
Yes, but -
'Yes, but.' Always 'Yes, but.' All your life it's been 'Yes, but.' When are you going to straighten up and take full responsibility for your life and all that happens to you?
Yes, but this isn't my fault. I'm not A. L. Graham. That isn't my name. This isn't my ship.
It isn't? You're not?
Of course not -
I sat up to Shake off this bad dream. Sitting up was a mistake; my head did not fall off but a stabbing pain at the base of my neck added itself to the throbbing inside my skull. I was wearing black dress trousers and apparently nothing else and I was in a strange room that was rolling slowly.
Graham's trousers. Graham's room. And that long, slow roll was that of a ship with no stabilizers.
Not a dream. Or if it is, I can't shake myself out of it. My teeth itched, my feet didn't fit. Dried sweat all over me except where I was clammy. My armpits - Don't even think about armpits!
My mouth needed to have lye dumped into it.
I remembered everything now. Or almost. The fire pit. Villagers
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