She snapped all her checks like pack-thread, and went for the tugs in
attendance like a fury. Before anybody could see what she was up to she
sent one of them to the bottom, and laid up another for three months'
repairs. One of her cables parted, and then, suddenly--you couldn't tell
why--she let herself be brought up with the other as quiet as a lamb.
"That's how she was. You could never be sure what she would be up to
next. There are ships difficult to handle, but generally you can depend
on them behaving rationally. With that ship, whatever you did with her
you never knew how it would end. She was a wicked beast. Or, perhaps,
she was only just insane."
He uttered this supposition in so earnest a tone that I could not
refrain from smiling. He left off biting his lower lip to apostrophize
me.
"Eh! Why not? Why couldn't there be something in her build, in her lines
corresponding to--What's madness? Only something just a tiny bit wrong
in the make of your brain. Why shouldn't there be a mad ship--I mean mad
in a ship-like way, so that under no circumstances could you be sure she
would do what any other sensible ship would naturally do for you.
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