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Various

"The Best Short Stories of 1921 and the Yearbook of the American Short Story"

I felt the centerboard drop; a patch of sail rose on the
main. The boat answered, gathered headway, drove forward--
"Wilbur lay as he had fallen and made no move.
"Two nights later, under a clear starry sky, we slipped through Lymoon
Pass on the tail of the land breeze. It fell flat calm before we reached
Wanchi; the long sweeps were shipped, and the chattering crew, who'd
never expected to see Hong Kong again, fell to work willingly. At length
we rounded to against the bulkhead and settled into our berth, as if
back from a late pleasure trip down the bay.
"A little forward, Wilbur rose to his feet. He hadn't spoken or touched
food since that tragic hour under the reefs two nights before. Without a
glance in our direction, he made for the side and stepped ashore. There
was a bright light behind him; his form stood out plainly. It had lost
the lines of vigor and alertness; it was the figure of a different and
older man.
"A moment later he had lurched away, vanishing in the darkness of a side
street. Three days later, we heard that he had taken the boat for
Singapore. He hasn't been seen or heard of since that day.
"When he had gone, that night at the bulkhead, Lee Fu reached out a hand
to help me to my feet. 'Thank you, Captain,' he said. 'For my part, it
has been supremely interesting.


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