"She saw him striding across the GOD-forsaken beach in the dappling sunset light as though he owned the whole island, which, in fact, he did. Despite his worn trousers and broken sandals, he carried himself as a royal scion might while visiting his holdings which in fact he was, with a look of intelligent and superior tranquility. His bronzed skin barely hid the muscles rippling beneath, and his gray eyes had a distant, cloud-borne look that spoke of hours racing before the winds of the Spanish Main, which in fact he had.

Her interested inventory of his attributes was suddenly interrupted by a strange sensation: her gorge had climbed into her throat, and she could feel her breakfast rising along her pale, high cheeks and suffusing her lovely features with a grassy (and gassy) green. Never, in all her eighteen years, had she felt such a sensation; she stood still, overcome with a mixture of emotion and physical desire to reverse parestalsis that seemed to have a mind of its own....."