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36

Girl's Waterfront

The girl was petrified as tons and tons of foamy, white water poured all over her. She frantically grabbed for the nearest protruding object an yelled: "Linda, please know more cannonballs."

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Faces were long. The depression must have hit hard, for all were wearing the same old clothes and no bathing suits.

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The noise was overwhelming. The look of horror was clearly present on my face as well as the face of my partner. The mob approached and as they did so we saw our dim fate ahead. Another general swim today.

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Truly sir, I'm not mad. I tell you this for after revealing my tale to you, you may think me mad, but sir, I am as sane as you.
It all started when the girls came down. They took their rightful places on the benches, and spoke with sarcasm of my sexy bathing suit. I could not help but blow my whistle. They know not up what they're doing. But I truly feel, the stroke of mastery, my coupe-de-gra if you will, was making the Senior division have swim instruction.

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Mindy Lang pretended not to hear the muttered jibe of the girls at the sheet. Her strong white teeth bit down hard on her shirt, as her eyes tried to penetrate the cruel gray mist of surrounding Camp Ranger.
Something flickered in the fog. There, ahead of them, directly ahead, motionless despite the strange surging tide that bore them onward through the windless clime, was the voice of, "You know you cannot go sailing with pants on!"

Dov Feder