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Creature comforts for Nolan Quoyle

“Oh! Wunnerful! Wunnerful food! They’s ‘ot rainbaths out of the ceiling, my son, oh, like white silk, the soap she foams up in your ‘and. You feels like a boy to go ‘mongst the ‘ot waters.

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A bound prisoner straining to get free

The house was heavy around him, the pressure of the past filling the rooms like odorless gas. The sea breathed in the distance. The house meant something to the aunt.

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What became of Bayonet Melville

A metallic crack and, with a frightful wave of stench, the suitcase sprang open.

Under the light he saw the ruined eye, the flattened face and blood- stiff mustache of Bayonet Melville on a bed of seaweed.

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The sea has a heartbeat

After Billy and Nutbeem went in Quoyle lingered, stood in the cracked road a minute. The long horizon, the lunging, clotted sea like a swinging door opening, closing, opening.

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The approximation of a Newfoundland accent

“Well, Agnis girl, what’ll you ‘ave today?” The waitress beamed at the aunt. “I’ll have the stewed cod, Pearl. Cuppa tea, of course. This here is my nephew, works for the paper.” “Oh yis, I sees him afore.

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Agnis Hamm goes home

She had not been in these waters since she was a young girl, but it rushed back, the sea’s hypnotic boil, the smell of blood, weather and salt, fish heads, spruce smoke and reeking armpits, the rattle of wash- ball rocks in hissing wave, turrs, the crackery taste of brewis, the bedroom under the eaves.

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Petal Bear. Thin, moist, hot.

THEN, at a meeting, Petal Bear. Thin, moist, hot.

Grey eyes close together, curly hair the color of oak. The fluorescent light made her as pale as candle wax.

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