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''Take me!" He screamed, sobbing. The waves came in again. ''Take me!" He struggled forward, going deeper into the churning water. Soon it was to his neck. ''Take me. She's gone, I no longer care.'' He whispered. The water churned over his head and he began to sink. Down, down, down he gently went, he didn't struggle. His lungs burnt like fire, but he closed his eyes. The ocean had taken him. And the land had taken her.
"Cold tears as salty as ocean spray wet my face. I remember the day before she died, my mother took me out in our little fishing boat, out on the open water of the sea—the thrum and hiss of surf upon the shore behind us, the rhythm never ceasing. And she taught me something: strange and secret words in a foreign tongue, a lilting singsong cadence to it." — from the novel SINFUL FOLK