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Typee by Herman Melville
page 100 of 408 (24%)
But we did not long stand to contemplate it, impatient as I was
to reach the waters of the torrent which flowed beneath us. With
an insensibility to danger which I cannot call to mind without
shuddering, we threw ourselves down the depths of the ravine,
startling its savage solitudes with the echoes produced by the
falling fragments of rock we every moment dislodged from their
places, careless of the insecurity of our footing, and reckless
whether the slight roots and twigs we clutched at sustained us
for the while, or treacherously yielded to our grasp. For my own
part, I scarcely knew whether I was helplessly falling from the
heights above, or whether the fearful rapidity with which I
descended was an act of my own volition.

In a few minutes we reached the foot of the gorge, and kneeling
upon a small ledge of dripping rocks, I bent over to the stream.
What a delicious sensation was I now to experience! I paused for
a second to concentrate all my capabilities of enjoyment, and
then immerged my lips in the clear element before me. Had the
apples of Sodom turned to ashes in my mouth, I could not have
felt a more startling revulsion. A single drop of the cold fluid
seemed to freeze every drop of blood in my body; the fever that
had been burning in my veins gave place on the instant to
death-like chills, which shook me one after another like so many
shocks of electricity, while the perspiration produced by my late
violent exertions congealed in icy beads upon my forehead. My
thirst was gone, and I fairly loathed the water. Starting to my
feet, the sight of those dank rocks, oozing forth moisture at
every crevice, and the dark stream shooting along its dismal
channel, sent fresh chills through my shivering frame, and I felt
as uncontrollable a desire to climb up towards the genial
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