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114
CREOLE SKETCHES
away the fumes of a night of orgy, as evil dreams are scattered by daylight.
And as the sailors call east and west and north and south; buffeted by wild winds; struggling with raging waves; making brief visits to strange ports; collecting dreamy memories of foreign lands; — until the time comes for them to sail into that weird sea which is waveless and shoreless and shadowless and forever silent, and from which no mariner ever returns.
