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The Sea Wolf

Chapter 9
Three days of rest, three blessed days of rest, are what I had with Wolf Larsen, eating at
the cabin table and doing nothing but discuss life, literature, and the universe, the while
Thomas Mugridge fumed and raged and did my work as well as his own.
"Watch out for squalls, is all I can say to you," was Louis's warning, given during a spare
half-hour on deck while Wolf Larsen was engaged in straightening out a row among the
hunters.
"Ye can't tell what'll be happenin'," Louis went on, in response to my query for more
definite information. "The man's as contrary as air currents or water currents. You can
never guess the ways iv him. 'Tis just as you're thinkin' you know him and are makin' a
favourable slant along him, that he whirls around, dead ahead and comes howlin' down
upon you and a-rippin' all iv your fine-weather sails to rags."
So I was not altogether surprised when the squall foretold by Louis smote me. We had
been having a heated discussion, - upon life, of course, - and, grown over-bold, I was
passing stiff strictures upon Wolf Larsen and the life of Wolf Larsen. In fact, I was
vivisecting him and turning over his soul-stuff as keenly and thoroughly as it was his
custom to do it to others. It may be a weakness of mine that I have an incisive way of
speech; but I threw all restraint to the winds and cut and slashed until the whole man of
him was snarling. The dark sun-bronze of his face went black with wrath, his eyes were
ablaze. There was no clearness or sanity in them - nothing but the terrific rage of a
madman. It was the wolf in him that I saw, and a mad wolf at that.
He sprang for me with a half-roar, gripping my arm. I had steeled myself to brazen it out,
though I was trembling inwardly; but the enormous strength of the man was too much for
my fortitude. He had gripped me by the biceps with his single hand, and when that grip
tightened I wilted and shrieked aloud. My feet went out from under me. I simply could
not stand upright and endure the agony. The muscles refused their duty. The pain was too
great. My biceps was being crushed to a pulp.
He seemed to recover himself, for a lucid gleam came into his eyes, and he relaxed his
hold with a short laugh that was more like a growl. I fell to the floor, feeling very faint,
while he sat down, lighted a cigar, and watched me as a cat watches a mouse. As I
writhed about I could see in his eyes that curiosity I had so often noted, that wonder and
perplexity, that questing, that everlasting query of his as to what it was all about.
I finally crawled to my feet and ascended the companion stairs. Fair weather was over,
and there was nothing left but to return to the galley. My left arm was numb, as though
paralysed, and days passed before I could use it, while weeks went by before the last
stiffness and pain went out of it. And he had done nothing but put his hand upon my arm
and squeeze. There had been no wrenching or jerking. He had just closed his hand with a
steady pressure. What he might have done I did not fully realize till next day, when he
 
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