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HARRY MORGAN-WINTER
in the water near her that passed her slowly in the
current going to the north and east, while the wind
overcame some of the launch's drift as it set her
steadily farther out into the stream. There was no
sign of life on her although the body of a man
showed, rather inflated looking, above the gunwale,
lying on a bench over the port gasoline tank and,
from the long seat alongside the starboard gunwale,
a man seemed to be leaning over to dip his hand into
the sea. His head and arms were in the sun and at
the point where his fingers almost touched the water,
there was a school of small fish, about two inches
long, oval-shaped, golden-coloured, with faint
purple stripes, that had deserted the gulf weed to
take shelter in the shade the bottom of the drifting
launch made in the water, and each time anything
dripped down into the sea, these fish rushed at the
drop and pushed and milled until it was gone. Two
grey sucker fish about eighteen inches long, swam
round and round the boat in the shadow in the
water, their slit mouths on the tops of their heads
opening and shutting; but they did not seem to com-
prehend the regularity of the drip the small fish fed
on and were as likely to be on the far side of the
launch when the drop fell, as near it. They had
long since pulled away the ropy, carmine clots and
threads that trailed in the water from the lowest
splintered holes, shaking their ugly, sucker-topped
heads and their elongated, tapering, thin-tailed
bodies as they pulled. They were reluctant now
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