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Published on 03-08-2010 03:58 AM
(Stuart Westmorland)
In the words of Fyodor Dostoevsky, I find myself in some difficulty: on the one hand, I feel professionally compelled to lift myself from this wooden bench-seat, leave this tiny open bar, with its wooden jetty reaching out into the tranquil, turquoise sea, and head off down the sandy street in search of the essential Belize.
On the other,
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