‘Oh, oh!’ cried the chaplain, staggering into the booms. ‘A fish – a fish has hit me! A flying-fish hit me in the face.’ ‘There is another,’ said Stephen, picking it up. ‘You notice that your high fishes fly paradoxically with the wind. I conceive there must be an upward draught. How they gleam – a whole flight, see, see! Here is a third. I shall offer it, lightly fried, to my sloth.’
