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Summary
With halting breaths, the occasional silence, air sucked in sharply through his teeth, Cornelius spoke: the base work he would do on a beautiful ship, Terror spoken as if it were a word that meant glory. Neatly pressed uniforms and rough living, harsh command and the freedom of the open sea. The chill of the arctic, like nothing Ellis had ever imagined, like nothing Cornelius had ever imagined, a sparse and desolate splendor.
"And the other end," Cornelius said, with another shuddering exhale. "After we cross the Passage — once we find the Passage — the Pacific Ocean. I hear it's beautiful … more beautiful than anything I've ever seen."