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Sport 14: Autumn 1995

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The passengers are groaning. They are unhappy; there have been complaints. Romance, they say, we were promised romance. Is this not, they say, a sea of love? And yet, so far, there has not been even so much as a single kiss!

They do not wish to believe that there cannot be love without mystery, romance without hesitation, passion without violence, or happiness without inevitable delay. Their mood is mutinous. They cast angry, sullen looks at Amanda as she sits, dutifully typing. Just one kiss, they say.

The air is filled with soft cries and whispering voices.

Be patient.

We will soon be in possession of all the dark facts.

Madeira was swallowed. A black night pressed into the uncanny music of the distant, churning waters.

Sunlight played on the water, highlighting the azure depths.

With the faintest hint of leashed and tethered strength.

Face it, Amanda. We’re two human beings who feel a strong attraction to each other. What could be wrong with that?

The night, penetratingly dark and cold.

The misty islands, whose contours seemed to have been carved in the dawn of time by a loving finger.

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The ship lurched sideways.

‘This is absurd,’ she cried. ‘Sheer physical attraction, the result of being flung together!’

They rode unbridled fancy through the long nights of romance.

He kissed her in a way she had never been kissed before.

Amanda shuddered delicately.

Indeed, she had never known that love could be like this.

A golden blissful time.

There had never been a love like this before.

Because, until now, there had always been misunderstandings.