You are my prisoner, murderer. ” He bent and kissed her hair and paused, and then forced his attention back to the map. Everything in his favour—the luck of the gods! The only white men were miles down the coast. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things.
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