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Nightsurf 1987

Page 8

Karen Lethlean

An image of wind, tinged with sun baked seaweed, a future with salt air, a bleached blond-haired boy running through sand hills. Like those photos she’d seen once of Tim Winton’s kids, as a little family, living in Lancelin.

“And for money?”

“Well, there’s a new resort development, they’re going to need reliable staff.”

Right about then Christy saw her long-suffering friend in a new light, as a person long stored, taken for granted, like Henry Holden, trashed even, but showing as much dependability as her car. About time for her to invest in making sure this friendship would endure, and more, strengthen. An unspoken vow she meant to keep.  

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