An excerpt

The wind died a little after four, and with it went the last excuse not to talk. Marta watched the mainsail slacken and thought of all the rooms she had left rather than say the thing she was now going to have to say in the middle of an ocean, where the doors were four hundred miles apart.

An excerpt from chapter seven. The paragraph above stays ragged-right by design—verse and quotation keep their own shape—while running prose like this paragraph, and the long descriptions on the other slides, are set with full Knuth-Plass justification when JavaScript is available, and with the browser's native justification when it is not.