Len Edgerly

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At last, gush after gush of clotted red gore, as if it had been the purple lees of red wine, shot into the frightened air; and falling back again, ran dripping down his motionless flanks into the sea. His heart had burst!
Len Edgerly
Good grief. This might be a good place for me, like the levithan, to simply give up. Ugh.
Moby Dick: or, the White Whale
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