The blast once more swept over the agitated river: whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before. Michelle looked at their reflections in the wall mirror. Lucy grabbed the hand cannon, stuffing it with powder, nearly missing a swing of the sword meant for her neck. She was faint from hunger, her head spinning into dizziness, the blood madness readying for battle. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance.
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