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Show "Hal," called Phyllis, "the rocks -" The boat had rolled shoreward, and tha rocks detached themselves in groups. The one closest was a cluster of lavalike swirls around which the waves boiled and fell back. A creamy line of foam glistened at the base. "Kacho-sanl Goran nasai!" Furukawa looked over the edge of the hold, said something under his breath, and bant back to his labors. "How much longer?" "He doesn't know." "We should do something -" Rummaging around in the stern, the officers dragged out life-preservers, as the women watched with rising anxiety. Because of the children thay kept their voices low, but Louise's face was strained, and to distract her little boy (the girl still slept) Evelyn Murakami had begun a story. "Do something," Jennings told no one in particular, his small astonished eyes showing white at the corners. "I never liked rocks." The wind was strong, and the waves sprayed the deck. The women sat in a quiet, tense group at the stern; the men had gathered amidships, watching Furukawa. From time to time each one glanced at the shore, testing whether the distance had lessened, but tha most optimistic answer could not hide the truth. The boat was moving in. As it slid closer the chasms grew clear, the trees larger. The waves roared. |