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boats tacking down the tide with an appearance of unhurried serenity;
he considered, with the comfortable detachment of one from whom a decision is not immediately required,
He sat back, his blank smile returning to his face like something dead floating to the surface of a pond.
He rolled to the surface like something loosened from the bottom of a pot of boiling water,
his face looked like a thin rag that someone had draped over some stones to dry in the sun and forgotten forever.
