Gregory B. She set her fingers in the hair and tugged, drawing him to a sitting posture and stooping so that her eyes would be on the level with his when he awoke. Just one thing more. “That’s HIM,” said Ann Veronica, in sound, idiomatic English. She taught him how to sail a proa, how to hack open a milk-coconut, how to relish bamboo sprouts. She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension.
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