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. But the boat hung on
the crest of that wave, and it rushed headlong for miles and miles,
until the wave finally spent itself.
When the boat lolled to a stop, I found the courage to open my
eyes.
The old man was gone. Disappeared.
In my fear and confusion, I scanned the waters all around the
boat hoping to find some sign of Six-Finger Fiske. But there was
none. It was still dark and I was utterly, thoroughly alone.
"It's not my time," I whispered, the great monster's words
reverberating in my head.
As I was sitting in the bottom of the boat, my fingers brushed
against something sharp. I flinched. The cut went deep into my
thumb. I quickly brought my hand up to my mouth to suck away
the blood and sooth the wound.
When I looked down to see what had cut me, I was astonished
to find a giant, cracked tooth lying near my feet.
At first, I was afraid to go near it. Using an oar, I pushed it to
the far side of the little boat. The very thought of the gaping jaws
that had held that tooth made me quiver with fear.
I wanted to get away from this cursed Blood Sea and away
from the memory of this awful night.
It was still dark, but I could tell by the stars that the night would
soon be over. I was desperate for sun to warm my soul.
I grieved for Six-Finger Fiske; I truly did. I couldn't stop thinking
of him and his strange words before he vanished beneath the
waves. But I had to take care of myself, so I fixed my position by
the stars and began rowing toward shore
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