THE MOST ROMANTIC STORY
By D.C.A. Savia
Copyright© D.C.A. Savia, 2016
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Spanish 1st Edition, February 2016.
In memory of “Don” Coco (Felipe), my dad, who was a
great reader, taught me music, read my first stories in high school and laughed
with my laughter when venturing in Mafalda’s cartoons.
In memory of “Doña” Aida, my mom, who’d tried I follow
the path of God, had expected to exercise as an accountant, and had relived
passion when I had got excited assisting a Boca Juniors’ matches.
To Facundo my soul mate, my love, my pillar.
"I write to relieve myself
without any hope of being read."
Jorge Luis Borges
FIRST PART: Back to Home
1.
Departures
There are loves that await us a whole life to mature,
to apprehend them hard and not let them escape. This is the case of these
youngsters that met teenagers and had to learn to apprehend each other.
There is no doubt that the point that united them
forever, was the moment in which faith separate them unexpectedly.
***
Atlantic Ocean, September
1880.
The storm had passed; rowdy, the crew ran from side to
side.
“Where do you think we are at this point Martina?,“ asked Lionard.
“The crew I found earlier said me that we were near
the Port of General Lavalle. So I figure we are a little further south, in Ajó,
the easternmost territory of Buenos Aires.” This is what she’d loved to express
in English, but since she didn’t dominate it completely, she only said, “In
Ajó, around 400 km south from Port of Buenos Aires”.
Exhausted, they felt asleep each one sitting in a
corner of the cabin, where had to wait obediently that they come looking for
them.
Later, strong boat’s shudder awoke them. They were no
longer hearing the crew running around as before. Lio and Martina went up on
deck to understand what was happening. They noticed that the coast was near but
saw no one crewing the schooner.
The sun started to appear from the dense clouds, on
its way down toward the cleared horizon. They ran to a side of the ship to
realize that the lifeboats weren’t there. “What’s going on,” asked Martina
extremely alarmed.
They ran to the other side, and neither the lifeboats
were there.
“This can’t be happening!,” cried Martina hysterically
in Spanish.
“Calm down Martina. We’ll get rid of this. You’ll see,”
said Lio, having understood.
“We’ll get rid? We’ll get rid?! How?!,”
She was speaking Spanish, he was speaking English, but
they were understanding each other.
“I don’t
know yet, but we are not far from the coast.”
“It’s
getting dark Lionard! If the ship doesn’t aground soon, eventually it will
shipwreck! Do you understand?”
Big waves that were resisting due to the constant wind,
buffeted the schooner. The deck was wet either by the previous storm, the waves
that punished the walls of the vessel, or the seawater’s drizzle, lifted by the
wind from its surface. Martina crying, held onto the railing. Lio, helpless,
didn’t know how to comfort her.
Suddenly the ship leaned into starboard, making the
girl losing her sustain, retreating to stabilize herself in the slide that
formed the cover to the axis of the vessel. Then, as a malicious ending
announced, it turned violently to port, making Martina slide uncontrollably,
then it rose her into the air and hit her with extreme brutality in the belly,
against the railing. She couldn’t grasp neither it nor any of the other
slippery objects or surfaces.
She gave a piercing scream, while Lio, who was
strongly holding from one of the ropes shaken by the wind and the wobbling,
tried to reach and grab her. He saw in slow motion, as Martina flailed
desperately trying to hold from any object in its way down, without success.
Before he could get to her, she was falling. Martina
was pulled out from cover and the safety of the Margaretha, crudely thrown into
the violent waters of the ocean.
***
Port of New York. Five weeks earlier.
Martina Antúnez Almaraz anxiously walked the Port. She
came and went under the 138 feet’s shadow of the anchored schooner. Standing on
tiptoes now and then, she glimpsed at the constant rattle of staff that came
and went loading and stacking boxes, barrels and other gear that they’ll have
to transport to Chile, or any of the at least two intermediate ports that would
touch the schooner before reach their final destination.
On one side of the boat you could read
"Margaretha", the name of the boat carrying the German flag hoisted
identifying its nationality. It was built of dark wood and three large masts
that had not yet unfurled its sails. Martina wondered if the schooner really
was as beautiful as she thought of it or were her eyes that embellished the
majestic ship due to the purpose it was intended. It would take her to her
horses, her dogs; the big lakefront house always cherished by the weeping
willow. That calm lake constantly toured by the duck family living in the land,
unless they were disturbing the geese and turkeys, in the food hours when they throw
them bread, leftovers from the meal of the day, or vegetable no so fresh.
She would arrive to Buenos Aires in spring, by late September.
She was anxious to wake up with the sound of the wild
animals that often visited their land in those latitudes. The caracaras or
caranchos, the great kiskadee, or "ugly bug” as they call them due the
similarity of their song with those words in Spanish, the running of the rheas,
the house with flowery gardens and wooded parks by jacarandas, ombus and silk
floss tree or “drunken sticks” called that way due to the shape of their trunk.
Native life that not resemble much to the one she lived in, across the ocean,
in this other hemisphere. Her land’ sounds in Buenos Aires were not the same as
she had been hearing during more than a year that she left her friends and her
father in Argentina to study piano, painting, sculpture, literature, French,
English, manners and protocol in France.
Her great aunt Doña Antonieta, Spanish by birth and
French by marriage, had received Martina in her mansion in Paris countryside, shortly
after the girl turned 14 years old. There she had lived the last year,
surrounded by governesses that hounded her day and night without rest. At least
that’s how she perceived the arduous hours of study. But the truth is that she
often had time for horse riding. She always hovered around the stables and
chicken coops; with the five greyhounds, upsetting the servants who granted all
their whims, as they do at her home in Buenos Aires. However she showed to her
governesses the manners she had acquired with endeavor. Before returning to
Argentina, Martina was brought to New York by her great aunt, where she had an apartment,
and accompanied by her great aunt’s personal maid. They spent shopping in the
big city a few weeks, before Martina should go home.
At any time, the bell will announce all passengers and
crew to board, to left behind their affections. Gust of melancholy flooded the
air from time to time. She didn’t know when she’d return or if she would at all.
She had a long journey ahead for about a month. Her
great aunt and Mariette, a servant girl of 15 years that Martina had grown fond
and endearing during that long year in Europe, mitigating her longing for their
land, came to say goodbye. “Doña” Antonieta had agreed with Capitan Johann
Hinrich Ramien, who was an old friend of the family, that he will take care of
Martina throughout the journey and would ensure her welfare and health. So she
rested assure in that matter. The trip
to Paris had been done in company of her father, that needed to close some
livestock export business to Europe. But Don Felipe Antúnez had to return two
months later to take care of his business.
“The bell Martina!,” observed Doña Antonieta.
“Of course aunty,” confirmed Martina with mixed feelings
throwing herself upon her granny’s neck. Both burst into tears trying to comfort
themselves, exchanging promises and affection’s words.
The personnel bringing Martina’s luggage, rapidly
delivered them to the crew, providing the owner’s information and cabin number
where it had to be sent.
The Margaretha wasn’t a passenger’s ship, but a cargo
one. Anyway it had some space for some crew’s acquaintance.
“I’ll miss you aunty. Keep writing me about the news
please. Also about the horses and dogs. I want to know everything,” asked in
Spanish, her natal language.
“Of course my child. Go with God, Go on”.
“Goodbye Mariette”, bade farewell Martina turning into
the slim figure looking at her with tears in her eyes and offering her open
arms.
“‘Au revoir Magtina’, I’ll ‘wgrite’ you ‘vegry’
often,” sobbed Mariette pronouncing the r’s with its typical French guttural
sound.
They had been saying goodbye during the hole week, and
didn’t have much to say rather than repeating the promises to keep in touch and
the recommendations to the young lady to be circumspect and careful.
By the catwalk that reached the Margaretha, a crew
member approached to the group that had a hard time leaving her go and spoke:
“The captain has sent me to lead Miss Martina aboard.
“Oh! Oui, oui! Martina, go child. God bless you and
accompany you in this trip. We’ll be praying for you”, expressed her granny and
kissed her in the cheek.
“Certainly, thanks. I’ll follow you,” addressed
Martina in English to the crew member.
On Margaretha’s prow, the captain waved cheerfully to Doña
Antonieta and Martina who was leaving behind her granny between tears and
smiles.
She went to meet the captain who had already
acquainted in several opportunities when he frequented Doña Antonieta’s house.
He was an old man in his forties with elegant bearing in his captain’s uniform.
He didn't speak much Spanish, rather than German mainly, English and French.
She preferred French since she had used to it during the year lived there. They
didn't talk much, due he needed to resume his duties. Then he asked one of his
grummet to guide her toward her cabin to accommodate and make sure that all her
luggage had been properly loaded. He had given indications about dinner times,
and other necessities, and had offered her disposal for whatever she’d need.
They went down to the cabins, walking the halls until
get to hers. She thanked him, settled herself quickly and ran to the main deck
to see if she could find among the many heads that swirled in the port, Antoinette
and Mariette's umbrellas that protected them from New York summer’s sun. She
saw them distantly. Gesticulating frantically caught their attention. They
began to cast off when she felt a knot in the stomach of deep nostalgia. Waving
a white handkerchief, fervently he shouted goodbyes to her friend and her great
aunt until the ship began to move away from Port, and she could no longer see
them.
She walked the deck for a while, enjoying the view
offered by the pelicans and gulls hovering some points in the water and
plummeting in shifts, where it was clear that there would be some fish shoal. She
tried to spot some marine animal in the water transparency. Then amused herself
watching the crew get down to their tasks. Mostly, they spoke in German so she
did not understand what they were saying. She saw the captain on several
occasions but did not want to interrupt his job. Anyway didn’t have much to
say. He was an old man to her way of seeing.
One thought led to another and then another and
suddenly she was calculating the number of persons on board. She had counted
about ten crew members and twenty passengers, which only five of them would be
under twenty-five years old. The rest would be all elders of thirty or more. She
had not seen any lady and thought: “this would be a long trip if I can’t manage
to do something fun”. Maybe she could write letters and read since she had
several books that had acquired in France. Also she had some in English to
improve in it. Suddenly, with his kindness, the captain interrupted her
thoughts:
“How are you dear?,” he asked her in French
“Everyth—”
“Do you have everything you need?
“Well, actual—”
“In a few minutes I'll introduce you to some guys of
your age traveling with us. You know that you can disturb me whenever you need.
Actually you won’t disturb me at all.” The captain was speaking without waiting
for an answer and interrupted her every attempt she made to answer him. “Don’t
worry about anything. You know Bernard, the cabin boy accompanied you to your
cabin, you can also ask him whatever you need if I am not available. He has indications
of being at your service. This will be a wonderful trip, you'll see.
"Boatswain!" —he broke off—, "apologies
me dear I have some things to attend but as soon as I get a moment, I'll
introduce you to the rest of the crew and passengers, which some are my guests.
If we don't see us, we will meet at 20 pm for dinner. If you get hungry, you
can go to the kitchen and they will tell you how they can please you."
Then he moved away to the bosun that was answering to his request and coming
toward him.
Martina was stunned by the twist in the captain's
behavior which was overwhelming when executing its role, unlike its quiet ways
in social visits. He had not let her say a word. She suddenly remembered that
among many things, Mariette had seen to prepare her, delicious cookies and
several flavors breads of the so famous French bakery. They had also sent as
appetizer, some green apples in order they get ripen throughout the days.
Mariette knew that the kitchen would address any need that her friend had, but
Dona Antonieta, knowing the whims of her niece, had insisted, so she would
bother as less as possible to the crew. She ran downstairs to her cabin, when
she tripped on the top step and slammed in a skirt commotion, to the floor of
the dining room, revealing more than the ankle under the horrified gaze of
several passengers who had gathered to play cards and hang out. She fell right
on the shoes of a gentleman. She looked up slowly and ... there he was!, a
tall, great mood young, handsome, broad-shouldered, though somewhat thin,
fair-skinned like alabaster and wavy brown hair, with eyes like the ocean that
looked pedantically to her jet black eyes. He would not be more than 18 years
old for his young face.
The boy mumbled something in a language that Martina
did not understand, then he spoke in English:
“Lady… Are you alright?”
“Yes, off course. My apologies.”
“Oh, for your accent you're neither French, nor
English, nor German,” pointed him sardonically. “Are you going back home?”
Several passengers had interrupted their card game,
startled by the abrupt, remaining attentive to the situation.
“That’s correct. I am from Argentina. Precisely from Buenos
Aires. What about you sir?”
“I’m from Scotland, but I was educated in London,
England.” —turning to the other passengers, he added lowering his voice—: “If she
understands the difference.”
A jubilant laughter celebrating the snide remark to
which were added other more hurtful and full of cruelty.
“Lionard McNair, at your service,” He introduce himself
extending his hand to Martina who was still kneeling on the floor, trying to stand
up.
“Of course I know the difference!,” she exclaimed
angrily, withdrawing her hand and jumping up, but well aware that she actually
had a hard time unraveling, for her, the tangled political and geographical
division in the UK.
During the abrupt laughter that arose from the sayings
of Lionard, Martina had perceived some of them referring to her homeland as a
savage land; something about South Americans hardly know where England is on
the map and other such meanness that couldn't understand. Not only that, but to
exhaust the subject of education in South America; the whispers continued with
moral questionings about the girl, her lack of decorum among everyone and the
lack of supervision of a governess.
“Excuse me Miss, I did not mean to create this
commotion...”
She didn’t finish to hear Lionard’s answer, that she
came out in a rush as if the devil took her through the cabin's aisle.
Embarrassed for having fallen in front of everybody, being ridiculed, with a
wounded ego, she remained coming and going from the door to the porthole in the
small cabin, filled with rage and indignation at such a demonstration of little
gallantry, clenching her fists on the sides of her body and mumbling: “Who does
he think he is? So daring and insolent! Let's see if the gentleman can speak a
language other than...? Sure, I think he speaks German. So educated! Does that
entitle him to belittle whoever crosses him! Does that entitle him to embarrass
a girl. How old can he be? Not much older than me as to pretend to be honored
after what he did. He lectures me?! To me?! What about those other conceited? I
a barbaric? Much less a little girl! It was just a fall! At home I always fall
from trees and swings, or dogs or ponies. Not for that I am a barbarian!”
Martina recalled the delicious cookies that Mariette
gave her, so she rummaged through her things until she found them. She attacked
them furiously, as if the cookies were the artisans of the misfortune that
handed her to the vile trap at the bottom of the stairs to take her into the
jaws of shame and despair. She remained lying there waiting the bell calling
for dinner, until she fell asleep. It had been a long day even for her
energetic fifteen years old. She lived passionately all big and little things.
Everything was hell or heaven, the worst or the best, black or white for her.
Her vision of pride, shame or humiliation was exaggerated. She was a teenager
who did not intend to grow fast, but did not want to be treated like a child.
She had girl friends in Buenos Aires that were already engaged to be married
but she would not allow for her something like this so soon. She was very happy
living with her father at home and didn't have wife's ambitions. She wanted to
learn how to manage her father's fields she would inherit some day and continue
writing romance novels. He had educated her with all privileges of a male
child. He taught her everything he knew about his business, about his favorite
sports, about horses, turf, about machines, electricity or technology. He had
hired instructors to teach her biology, astronomy, physics, music, all subjects
in which she was interested to supplement her education as a teacher.
***
Meanwhile, in the dining room still they were
whispering about Miss's manners. Lionard was playing cards, but made no
comment. He was rather serious and reserved. He was impressed by the courage of
that annoying girl, who had not let him apologize for his impertinence. He
wondered how old she would be to behave so foolishly, running down the
corridors and stairwells.
Literally, ‘down’. A well-educated
young lady would not do such a thing. Surely she wouldn't be older than
fourteen. But it was strange because he had not seen anyone with her. Those
eyes said something else; such deep black eyes, in that little face of always
tanned complexion. Her long light brown hair and curly due to moisture. She
combed it in loops of golden highlights when a sunray reached them...
"Lio. Lio! Your turn! ,” Bahl took him out from
the reverie that had been submerged, completely forgetting the poker game.
“Oh, of course, yes.”
“What planet were you at?”
“Forget it. This game needs to be spiced up. I raise.”
“Oh, I see what you intend,” pointed out Bahl and
followed his game.
“How will you handle your studies while you are
abroad?,” asked Paul O’Connel to Lio.
“Oh, really!,” said Collins. “You go to Oxford
University. Right?”
“That’s right,” confirmed Lionard. “My father made an
agreement with the Director. I’ll take exams at my return without having to
attend to classes. I will be studying at ‘University of Buenos Aires’ with a
very prestigious academic. Dr. Ignacio Pirovano. He studied with Dr. Pasteur in
France. Do you believe it? The very one Pasteur!”
“Your ‘fazer’ must have many connections at ‘Univerrrsities’,”
wondered amazed Sencondat in its distinc French accent.
“Oh, Philippe, you have no idea how many he has, and
how much he influences,” Lio replied him.
“What ‘arrr’ you going to do in Buenos ‘Airrres’? Won’t
you be delaying ‘yourrr’ studies?,” questioned Philippe.
“It’s possible, but my father wants me to acquire
experience on the family business. He wants me to travel and help him. I agreed
under the condition that he allows me to finish my medicine degree, because I
actually would like to be a medical investigator.”
“Parents!,” exclaimed Paul. “How could you please
them, other than doing what they demand?”
“You are right,” said Lio. “Parents… we owe them all
in life. What about you, Bill? Have you decided if you will stay with me at
Buenos Aires or you continue to Chile? Gentlemen, Mr, William Richardson can
afford to travel around the world without having to provide explanations to
anyone, and deciding his destiny in the way. Not even his parents.
“Please Lio. I won’t let all the fun just for you.
I’ve been told that creole ladies there in Argentina have been blessed by
goddess Aphrodite and that British like us, can get down any of their defense
system.” Collins, O'Connell, Philippe and Bahl exploded in loud laughs.
“I just came out with a great idea!,” interrupted
Collins. “What if you come to Rio with Bahl and me before continuing the travel?
We’d be so much fun the four of us. Excuse me Lionard,” —interrupted himself—,
“you are cordially invited, but I understand that you have commitments to be attended
immediately in Buenos Aires.” —Turning again to the other three guys, he continued—:
“I have many connections in Brazil. Whenever you need to continue your journey,
you can take the next ship to Buenos Aires or Chile. You’ll be a few water’s
days.”
“Oh, I’m not sure my friends, let’s see,” apologized
Bill without commit himself.
“Think it well Bill. Do you know Brazil’s beaches?”
“Actually it is the first time I’m coming to South
America.”
“Well, they are the most beautiful I’ve ever seen in
my life. You can’t imagine the good life we could have there. My father owns a
house near the beach, full of servants to our disposition full time. I assure
you Bill, you won’t regret it.
“What about you Philippe?”
“I’m not ‘surrre’ why Bill wouldn’t want it, but… I’m
in Daniel! I wouldn’t miss it in the world!,” replied Philippe.
Collins continued providing reasons to Bill in favor
of his great idea and the rest of the guys joined him projecting big dreams of
partying and uncontrolled fun. The beaches and all the prospect was tempting
enough, but Bill’s second thoughts were, about leaving his very best friend
alone, just the days before he could be set in a new city.
Lio couldn’t stop thinking in those deep black and
tender eyes that looked at him from the floor.
***
A few hours later, Martina was deeply sleeping when
someone called to the door of her cabin and awoke her.
“Miss Martina, I’m Bernard, the captain sent me.”
“Yes, Bertrand, tell me please,” answered her without
opening the door. “How can I help the captain?”
“Oh, no miss. The captain sent me to inform you that
the dinner time is about to come and he wishes to introduce you to the
passengers and the crew.”
“Oh, of course! Tell the captain that I’m coming.”
Very well miss, I’ll tell him”
She washed her face, combed her hair and settled her
clothes to rush into the dining room.
“Martina!,” exclaimed the captain. “Finally girl!,
come near, you’ll have to practice your English because it is the language
common to all the presents. Come, come here. Sirs! Your attention please. I
want to introduce you miss Martina from Argentina. I’d like to ask you to be
chivalrous to her who is my protected on this trip.
“Over here, over here dear,” indicated the captain
towards some of the guys. “This is Mr. Richardson from England and Mr. Bahl.”
“Pleasure to meet you Miss,” said both at once, bowing
with their heads and removing their hats.
“Pleased to meet you sirs.” repeated Martina bowing as
it was accustomed in the high society of Europ.”
“Mr. O’Connel from Ireland, Mr. Collins from England,
Mr. McNair from Scotland and Mr. Secondat from France.”
“Oh! Of course, the view was delightful,” pointed out
Collin suggestively.
“A pleasure, nice to meet you, pleased to meet you,”
they take turns one by one to say hello.
Martina bowed each one of them by courtesy but inside
her, she wished to turn around and flee towards the other side of the little
salon that hardly could contain 16 diners at a time.
The captain continued introducing more passengers, all
males, while they approached to the kitchen. It seems that she had not been
lucky in that trip and she was not going to have a girl friend to share the
journey.
Once in the kitchen he addressed to the chef and his
aprendices.
“Sirs, please meet Miss Martina. She is traveling with
us under my protection. I ask all of you please be kind to her as you are with
me and please her at anything she requires.” All assented between mumbling and continued
their tasks. The captain approach one by one to introduce her individually
until they reach the chef. “Mr. Buchanan and his son Martin.” Under the table
appeared a head covered by a beret and his owner said: “Pleased to meet you milady.”
“Oh! How sweet can you be?! I’m delighted gentleman!,”
replied her to the little boy of around twelve or thirteen years old that rose
with a big smile.
“Mr. Buchanan has brought his son to learn the craft
at sea. I’m pretty sure he’ll be an excellent company for you dear during this
month,” informed the captain.
“Miss, I'm entirely to your service,” said her little namesake.
“I have no doubt that my son will have enough time to
dedicate to the lady,” confirmed Mr. Buchanan bowing with his head.
“Nice to meet you sir. It will be an honor to have the
company of such a noble gentleman,” she answered to the boy bowing with her
legs and head.
The boy blushed although followed every movement she
made around while finishing with introductions.
“Very well
Martina, let’s get back to the dining room. You have a chair reserved next to
me.” Without any more delay, they went to the table arm in arm.
The dinner went cheerfully between discussions of
economy, law, politics and some religion. In the table talk, the wine
disinhibited to the young people who started bringing instruments and improvising
dances, and singing each one their native couplets. Everybody clapped and sang
merrily.
Martina recovered the spirit again accompanied by her
young friend Martin, that taught her the songs he knew and encouraged her to
sing. She noticed that young man McNair was being called Lionard. She observed him when she could avoid his
gaze and noticed him dismissive with everyone, acting as if sniffing rotten
fish continuously. She'd never really seen anyone so miserable who
everyone was fawning so intensely. Rightly he believes himself such important
thing. He must be thinking that everyone is like those flatterers. Of course
she would show him who he was messing with, that cocky.
“Martina, you are the only lady in this ship, dear.
Come on, you should dance with the guys. Wouldn't you accept this piece to
Lio?,” proposed suddenly the captain, cheering to Lio, gesturing him to stand
up.
Lio was caught unprevented and wouldn't want being
impolite, so he stood up and extended his hand to Martina that immediately
excused herself to dance arguing lack of practice in that particular rhythm. He
stared at her with angry eyes. It was evident the contempt made openly before
all presents. Nobody could state that needs practice for a simple vals.
The evening continued for some more hours while all
enjoyed a delicious dessert and chatted between song and song, between a drink
and the next. Lio seemed upset. After her successful scene, Martina felt in the
clouds all night. She felt, had given that petulant conceited what he deserved.
Around ten, Martina apologized to everyone and leave
to her cabin.
Lio followed her with his eyes. His thoughts bounced
from one scene of the evening to the other. Martina taking her hand off him
twice the very same day. “How she dares. That smug brat. They should teach her
manners. Who knows the barbarian lands she comes from, to behave in a such
impolite way? When knows who have she offended to, she’ll regret it, that
conceited.”
“How old is Miss Martina?,” asked suddenly Lio to the
captain.
“She’s fifteen. Her father is a very important farmer
from Buenos Aires. She is a very educated girl. Her father has provided the
best teachers for her. She’s very intelligent. You’ll see. She’ve been in
France the during the last year to complete her studies. Her great aunt
received her in her mansion. They have a very important and influential family.
But dear, you are very young and that little girl cannot be taken lightely. Be
careful. She’s under my guard on this ship and I won’t allow nobody to flirt
with her under any circumstance.”
The rest of the boys started to joke with the
possibility of a dead body appearing floting in the sea to whoever dare with
Martina. It be in the hands of the captain, the influent family or by herself
if all before had failed. Lio was the target of all jokes due to the snubs
she’d made him in a few opportunities and how it discredit his reputation with
his acquaintances. Laughs out loud due to the wine and following exaggerations
about Martina’s courage, were heard in the salon.
The
vessel continued its quite but fast way, breaking through the Atlantic’s
waters.
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