Sailing Away
When we pulled away from the Tyne the sea was already boiling up in what they call a swell. And as the evening drew on and land receded into invisibility the cubism of these shifting planes of water gave way to white-tops and eventually a gale that bumped us along the surface of the ocean.
No dinner, then, watching apprehensively as the crew packed away the Scandinavian buffet; and no sleep either, for those in peril on the sea.
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