Gaining the more open water, the bracing breeze waxed fresh; the little Moss tossed the quick foam from her bows, as a young colt his snortings.
“The stunod commander, a German Commodore no less, decides that there's just too many ships in the Gulf, and he doesn't have the manpower to search everyone of them.”
We sandbagged the basement windows against the floodwaters.
Beneath the snow, and after we had left it behind, the road was as greasy as vaseline, as steep as a scenic railway, and often not a yard wider than the lorry’s wheelbase.
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