‘And lo, the beast looked upon the face of beauty. And it stayed its hand from killing. And from that day, it was as one dead.’
He stood alone on the forecastle of the hulking SS Dog, an indistinct figure lost in the fog and choking oily breath of the steamer’s churning engines that swarmed about him. Then, as the bow of the ship punctured the dam of haze that encircled the lapping periphery of Python Bay, Mr. Burden first set eyes upon the Island. The startling diorama that emerged from the ether was a Mesozoic landscape that rose thousands of feet from the thrashing surf. Upon the dramatic skyline, brutal volcanic vents brooded, their mantles splashed in a covering of verdant green blankets that swept down onto bare mineral crags and an arcing belt of fine sand at the oceans brink.
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