The spikes almost touched the upper part of the hatch: scarcely space enough for the passage of a hand being left between their points and the beam. The sea was no longer rolling brass; it was bluer than anything he had ever seen. She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch. To-morrow, when she returned to Hong-Kong, she would purchase a simple but modern dress. Then he stepped briskly to his feet and bent over the wounded man. . . She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground.
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