Only the old harbor-master was there, singing out, as by duty bound, his lusty oaths at their lumberings.
The outgoings of the border were at the north bay of the salt sea, at the south end of Jordan.
Nothing was to be seen save flat meadows, cows feeding unconcernedly for the most part, and silvery pollard willows motionless in the warm sunlight.
I notice a pair of Oscar the Grouch flip-flops, standing in the last stall.
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