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[55] LeAVinG the MAinL AnD En route to Key West The last resort as some wags dub it. And now for the first time since leaving the mainland we feel it. So narrow an approach, the road we’re on seems less a slip of land than a channel of water. And everywhere the doubling back of life scenes: bitterns teetering on one leg as if to remain prescient of two worlds — this one that warms us through car glass, and the other a stirring life submerged. island of bones. So overwhelmed were they by life’s remains — so many bones — that de Leon and trails of others found there. the terrible name must have given breadth to their worst fears. Ships like theirs brought to grief by poorly marked reefs or the lure of a light on a cow’s tail. And after disaster, the call — but not for help — among the islanders. A wreck! Prosperity from ruined ships — a life no one had entertained. Still, there they were chasing submerged treasures. A slip in judgment perhaps. But given the choice between limestone too hard for digging graves or an ocean of pyramids, who could blame them — certainly neither of us — for wanting to live? ...

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