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Show 23, Jeffries, Islamorada [Section 2] now they're rummaging through your room. At this moment--" "M£ God." "Now the temptation is, of course, to watch them. Especially the Spaniard--" "Yes, his penitential grumbling--" "And you remember I called it the tropical death march. But there are forces at work, to even things up. Look, do you see anything out there in the Atlantic?" Something coming, here?. . . coming across the water. "The pikeman, d'ya see him, boy?" A pikeman, blowing in on his mole "--On that little spit of land that must have been out there in 1513. . The way ghosts walk, with that airy loyalty to battlements and city walls long gone. . . The wan, yellowish Spaniard stumbled down at the leggings of the clamshell men, and then pridefully righted himself, as the trio made their way across lawns on the slight parabolas of the path through the mangroves known to them. "Evening things up, you mentioned." "Well now, boy, you almost had me whispering, there!" The old timer said, loudly and gruffly, "You don't think they hear us, do you? Haw-haw. But squaring |
