” Dos Orsos smiled sadly. “Why?” he said, picking the word that was uppermost in his mind. The walls weren’t made of mud, the thatched roof wasn’t made of reeds, and the window gaps had little force fields to keep out the insects and let in the breeze. The thing we saw out at sea.
His attention turned from Glacier and the Hill Institute to saving the Great Northern Railroad. His feet were dangling over the rim of the dried up lake. Small waves, apparently without cause or origin, passed under the ambulance boat’s hull. He realises that he’s already starting to look like the creature he tossed over the stern of the Glorious Nomad, and that the wonders of the life he’s now living cannot last forever.
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