He met her eyes with his fiery black gaze. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words. . “I get that a lot. He kissed her again. The satisfaction of cheating Death again. Except that this music we have been swimming in is divine. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. ‘Taken the girl with him. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. Fearful that she had given herself away, she sank back down onto her stool.
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