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    “I love the smell of the sea,” Dana said, slowly, “and warm balmy summer evenings.”

    “Mmmmmmm,” Ross murmured, “It’s definitely balmy in here. A little beyond balmy—it’s downright steamy. Glenn’d say that it smells like a bloody fish market, but I think it smells like contentment, like comfort.”

    “Like serenity. Like pleasure.” Dana rolled over and laid the length of her naked skin against Ross’s and breathed in the joy of having him beside her. “A gentle female rain after a long dry spell,” she whispered. “Ahhhhh!”

    Suddenly, the tent jerked and then collapsed. They were yanked in the sack of the tent down over the rocks, bumped, battered and scraped and dragged into icy water. The tent, with them in it, sank. Nylon clung to their skin. Beside Dana, Ross thrashed and clawed at the fabric. Water and wet tent closed over her face. Dana scrambled and dug for the zipper.

    Finally, Dana found the zipper, fought with it, and failed. It stuck in her hand. Lungs burning, she yanked and yanked, but the zipper wouldn’t budge.

    *

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