. . Relax . . . Slack . . .
Slack out . . . At any time . . . now . . . you'll pass . . . the
worst . . . No matter how much it hurts . . . it will pass . . .
You're easier now . . . aren't you?"
And then he would put her down again, going from bad to worse--in
his ill-treatment of her; making her swallow pints of salt water,
secure in the knowledge that it would not definitely hurt her.
Sometimes they came up for brief emergences, for gasping seconds in
the sunshine on the surface, and then were under again, dragged
under by him, rolled and tumbled under by the curling breakers.
Although she struggled and tore herself from his grips, in the
times he permitted her freedom she did not attempt to swim away
from him, but, with fading strength and reeling consciousness,
invariably came to him to try to save him. When it was enough, in
his judgment, and more than enough, he grew quieter, left her
released, and stretched out on the surface.
"A-a-h," he sighed long, almost luxuriously, and spoke with pauses
for breath. "It is passing.
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