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12 Bottle in the Sea Three rocks, a few burnt pines, a solitary chapel and farther above the same landscape repeated starts again: three rocks in the shape of a gate-way, rusted, a few burnt pines, black and yellow, and a square hut buried in whitewash; and still farther above, many times over, the same landscape recurs level after level to the horizon, to the twilight sky. Here we moored the ship to splice the broken oars, to drink water and to sleep. The sea that embittered us is deep and unexplored and unfolds a boundless calm. Here among the pebbles we found a coin and threw dice for it. The youngest won it and disappeared.* We set out again with our broken oars. J 7 ...


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