'Lovey, Lovey, Queeby wanter come ter yer. Me wanter come ter yer,' waggling her black fingers directingly through the cracks.

a good swimmer

I don’t believe Lindsay senses the satiric undercurrents beneath the machined ripples of Ballard’s prose.

I should have shot that long gangly lubber they called Hank, if I could have done it without crippling six or seven other people—but of course I couldn't