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. It was the other way around.
"Cut the line!" I screamed. "Let it go!"
The old man seemed undecided. His desire for revenge fought
with his desire for life.
The sea began to rage and the little boat was buffeted from
wave to wave. And still the old man would not make up his mind.
Was it his father he was thinking of? His brother? His sons? Or his
poor, unfortunate wife? I didn't know what rooted him in place; I
only knew that if he waited any longer, we would surely join his
descendants in the darkness of death.
The roaring that I heard from underneath the sea grew even
louder, and steam began to rise in a cloud, covering us like a
shroud.
The cry of the beast and the enveloping whiteness seemed to
finally shake the old man from his moorings. He reached for his
knife, intending to cut the line. Except his hands were trembling
and he fumbled with the knife, dropping it to the bottom of the
boat.
At that moment the sea in front of the boat erupted in a mighty
spray. Something hideous thrashed up out of the deep. I couldn't
see very much of it because millions of gallons of blood-red water
were running down off its massive body. Huge flapping wings
made the wind blow so hard I could barely expel my own breath
against its awesome force. I could see nothing else except Six-
Finger Fiske's huge, shiny metal hook caught between two
massive teeth in the beast's otherwise dark, obscured face
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