Upon return from sail, whilst traipsing to quarters, he paused mid-turn to relay another farewell to passed afternoon, this time with a fleeting dry cry from each eye, before inner-talking a mild tsk-tsk to tychism in favour of a wowed bow to Taoism—for as splashes and swoops of the sea faded from day’s set, sale of sail was surety that no dance is of chance and all that is enough to be featured as fine must be so by design. ; )