There came to Spurlock the recurrence of the grim resolution of what he had set out to do: that comradeship was all he might ever give this exquisite creature; for she was exquisite, and in a way she dominated this picture of sea and sky and sail. Lucy grabbed the hand cannon, stuffing it with powder, nearly missing a swing of the sword meant for her neck. Spurlock slumped in his chair, weak and empty.
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