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The fact that this was not my usual schooner or brigantine, I saw when no more than two hundred meters remained between my rock and the watercraft. I immediately stopped dancing, threw the unnecessary fin aside - for a split second I felt unwell. Because an antediluvian monster was moving in my direction on three floats with a net stretched between them, a kind of construction in the spirit of the ships, either Polynesians or Aborigines from the coast of Australia. And, I remember, both of them were distinguished by an enviable gastronomic interest in white people. For some reason, the memory gave out the name "Trimaran", and stated that this was her authority ... In general, it's understandable.

Trimaran. Well. One way or another, the shipbuilder on this "trimaran" obviously got experienced and sophisticated - he drove his vessel quickly, kept on the wave like a nailed one, and in just five minutes, with one long jump, he turned out to be exactly at my rock, jewelryly taxiing between
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