Report, if you have a problem with this page“ A pulse. Beat-beating against her palm. Alive. Beat by beat the bottomless whirlwind of perceptions and data and images and sensations careening through her mind—so many how can this tiny skull hold them all—began to abate in time to the rhythm of not her pulse, but his. ”
G.S. Jennsen
From : Transcendence: Aurora Rising Book Three
