By Tom Neale
Thomas Francis "Tom" Neale (November 6, 1902 - November 27, 1977) used to be a brand new Zealander bushcraft and survival fanatic who spent a lot of his existence within the cook dinner Islands and sixteen years in 3 periods dwelling on my own at the island of Anchorage within the Suwarrow atoll, which was once the root of this autobiography.
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Additional info for An Island to Oneself
Until recently, her parents had revealed little to her about the inner workings of the Starcatchers. But since the awful night at Stonehenge, and the courage Molly had displayed there, Leonard had been more willing to answer his daughter’s questions. “Actually,” said Leonard, “what’s most troubling is something that didn’t happen. That was a very large batch of starstuff we had—the largest in centuries, at least. Yet we received no warning before it fell in Scotland. That’s why the Others got to it first.
CHAPTER 6 RUMOR SPREADS LE FANTOME CHARGED THROUGH the roiling seas faster than she’d ever sailed before. Captain Nerezza pushed the vessel to her limits, putting up more sails even when it seemed the added cloth might tear the ship apart. Night and day, she surged forward, leaving a wake of bubbling white on the dark, open ocean. The sailors were as eager as their captain to reach their destination and discharge their unwelcome passenger. Rumor had spread quickly through the crew that he was back—the hooded, shadowy shape living in the darkened cabin.
As she and Peter both knew, she did not like to let him out of her sight. “Morning, Peter,” said a voice from below. Peter looked down and smiled. “Morning, James,” he said. He dropped lightly to the ground as James, always the second to rise, climbed from the hole. The two close friends stood for a moment, enjoying the morning coolness. Peter’s enjoyment was tempered by his awareness of how much James had grown recently; he stood a good inch taller than Peter now, maybe two, and he was wider about the shoulders.
An Island to Oneself by Tom Neale