Seven or eight men were hanging around just outside, some of them sitting on wooden crates, smoking cigarettes, drinking from bottles or large soft-drink cups. They were another couple, two young gay men, tourists from the Netherlands, wearing crease-proof sportsjackets and barely-there barefoot hiking shoes. The sandy beaches of lonely Gavdos were gone, the island had shrunk a little, but the goats had never signed up for civilisation anyway. She adjusted the contrast until the design was all she could see; and then she set to work.
Not even when he heard a quiet splash. What would Mr. He said so. It lay there, still and spent—and several heartbeats passed before Dac Kien realised it wouldn’t ever move.
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