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Chapter 4

           Butshewouldanswerhim;shewished,passionately,tomovesomeobstaclethatlayuponhertongueandtosay,Oh,yes,Frisk.I’llcallhimFrisk.Shewantedeventosay,Wasthatthedogthatfounditswayoverthemooralone?Buttryasshemight,shecouldthinkofnothingtosaylikethat,fierceandloyaltothecompact,yetpassingontoherfather,unsuspectedbyJames,aprivatetokenoftheloveshefeltforhim.Forshethought,dabblingherhand(andnowMacalister’sboyhadcaughtamackerel,anditlaykickingonthefloor,withbloodonitsgills)forshethought,lookingatJameswhokepthiseyesdispassionatelyonthesail,orglancednowandthenforasecondatthehorizon,you’renotexposedtoit,tothispressureanddivisionoffeeling,thisextraordinarytemptation.Herfatherwasfeelinginhispockets;inanothersecond,hewouldhavefoundhisbook.Fornooneattractedhermore;hishandswerebeautiful,andhisfeet,andhisvoice,andhiswords,andhishaste,andhistemper,andhisoddity,andhispassion,andhissayingstraightoutbeforeeveryone,weperish,eachalone,andhisremoteness.(Hehadopenedhisbook.)Butwhatremainedintolerable,shethought,sittingupright,andwatchingMacalister’sboytugthehookoutofthegillsofanotherfish,wasthatcrassblindnessandtyrannyofhiswhichhadpoisonedherchildhoodandraisedbitterstorms,sothatevennowshewokeinthenighttremblingwithrageandrememberedsomecommandofhis;someinsolence:"Dothis,""Dothat,"hisdominance:his"Submittome."

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