‘Why, that’s one of the names with which she tried to fob me off. The little streaks upon the germinating area of an egg, the nervous movements of an impatient horse, the trick of a calculating boy, the senses of a fish, the fungus at the root of a garden flower, and the slime upon a sea-wet rock—ten thousand such things bear their witness and are illuminated. Papillon would have broken him down; anything tender would have sapped his will; and like as not he would have left the stool and rushed into the night. The moisture from the sea was constant, and she spent countless hours staring at the sea from the west tower, the rise and fall of waves.
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