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164
Glaucus; Or, The Wonders of the Shore
·
Charles Kingsley
94
He
is
being
“played”
with
such
a
fishing-line
as
the
skill
of
a
Wilson
or
a
Stoddart
never
could
invent;
a
living
line,
with
elasticity
beyond
that
of
the
most
delicate
fly-rod,
which
follows
every
lunge,
shortening
and
lengthening,
slipping
and
twining
round
every
piece
of
gravel
and
stem
of
sea-weed,
with
a
tiring
drag
such
as
no
Highland
wrist
or
step
could
ever
bring
to
bear
on
salmon
or
on
trout.
The
victim
is
tired
now;
and
slowly,
and
yet
dexterously,
his
blind
assailant
is
feeling
and
shifting
along
his
side,
till
he
reaches
one
end
of
him;
and
then
the
black
lips
expand,
and
slowly
and
surely
the
curved
finger
begins
packing
him
end-foremost
down
into
the
gullet,
where
he
sinks,
inch
by
inch,
till
the
swelling
which
marks
his
place
is
lost
among
the
coils,
and
he
is
probably
macerated
to
a
pulp
long
before
he
has
reached
the
opposite
extremity
of
his
cave
of
doom.
Once
safe
down,
the
black
murderer
slowly
contracts
again
into
a
knotted
heap,
and
lies,
like
a
boa
with
a
stag
inside
him,
motionless
and
blest.
{138}
[Picture:
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