OCR Text |
Show 3, Jeffries, Islamorada [Section 4] out into the Atlantic. A merry- Cutaneous, he thought. No, chitinous. 'There's them that says the dredgin's what's killin' the livin' reef. . .' Oh please not the reef. But pitchpoled out here-he turned to look back into the pressure, but it was Laugh in the Dark, himself flushing down, choking, but something there?, in the dream-video of the third eye, old wood, and boiling up in the vortex a lorn head, the sepulchral face, the Spaniard popping up to embrace- And Dorian Clayton--using a cat's life-goes hurtling over the reef. n-n-nnnnnnn. What. In the water and up in the fillings of his teeth he heard machinery. N-N-N-nnnNN Captains Courageous!--just about over his head, pigging its space through Hawk Channel--the hydrofoil came shouldering, Dory, waving, had gone straight up in a wave like a porpoise walking on its tail, and taking the night air the brave, mad Pooh-bah, alone at an aft rail smiled his cruel smile and waved back. The hydrolics of the hurricane. The concussion of the wave. The dead in the wind, already keening. |