El destino nunca hizo un barco más sagrado que el Leviatán cuando el primer sol de primavera mató al capitán a su despertar.

Black screen. White, atmospheric noise with the distant clamor and audible movements typical of a busy office area (a clock ticks distantly, almost inaudibly).

It was a fortune and an almost certain chance of death for bringing down trees in the Alaskan frost. I think our university peers paid too much attention to the last part. John thought they did not pay enough to the first.

Fate never made a vessel more sacred than the Leviathan when the first sun of spring killed the captain at his wake.