Jeffery Farnol

The Frenchman beside me had been dead since dawn. His scarred and shackled body swayed limply back and forth with every sweep of the great oar as we, his less fortunate bench-fellows, tugged and strained to keep time to the stroke.

In the writing of books, as all the world knows, two things are above all other things essential -- the one is to know exactly when and where to leave off, and the other to be equally certain when and where to begin.