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XL. Midnight, Forecastle

What of that? Who’s afraid of black’s afraid of me! I’m quarried out of it!

Spanish sailor .

Aside. He wants to bully, ah!⁠—the old grudge makes me touchy. Advancing. Aye, harpooneer, thy race is the undeniable dark side of mankind⁠—devilish dark at that. No offence.

Daggoo grimly .

None.

St. Jago’s sailor .

That Spaniard’s mad or drunk. But that can’t be, or else in his one case our old Mogul’s fire-waters are somewhat long in working.

5th Nantucket sailor .

What’s that I saw⁠—lightning? Yes.

Spanish sailor .

No; Daggoo showing his teeth.

Daggoo springing .

Swallow thine, mannikin! White skin, white liver!

Spanish sailor meeting him .

Knife thee heartily! big frame, small spirit!

All .

A row! a row! a row!

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