Blazing firelight, dark red blood, everything changed in an instant, my creative urge was completely unleashed at that moment. At first, I was still somewhat afraid of the stray bullets flying past my ears, but later, I no longer cared about anything. All I thought about was finishing this painting."
Tennyson's expression grew more dazed upon hearing this, and he spoke to stop Turner: "No, Mr. Turner, I respect you greatly, but you cannot publish such a work, it's not right."
Turner raised his eyes in surprise and said: "How do you know my work is not right? My God, it seems our inspirations indeed intertwined that night, and generated some incredible resonance. I was contentedly finishing my draft, just about to quit, but then I heard the thundering hooves of the newly arriving Guard Cavalry, and then I saw a leaping figure..."
Tennyson couldn't help but hold his head in pain and hunched over, pleading: "Enough, Mr. Turner. I don't want to recall any more."
