You never can go back. Along the floor ran an iron bar to which Jack's chain was attached, so that he could move along it from one end of the chamber to the other. Sheila bellowed, a great wail of a sound from deep in her belly, flinging her tremendous weight towards him. And now, only twenty-four hours behind him … that is, if he wasn't paddling by on the return route to Hong-Kong or had dropped down to Macao. Work becomes distasteful; one thinks of holidays.
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