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The sea was charged with cadavers, and this morning, it was spitting on to their faces. It splashed its yellowed foam each time a corpse, swelled by the salt and sun, hit the tank aboard which the young Joge-O and the Doctor Ignace had been surviving since the storm. The craft was zooming straight, pushed by the winds without too much hesitation, taking the two survivors toward freedom, toward Lanvil. Leaning overboard, Joge-O was vomiting out his guts.
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