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Skipper did not recognize him, even when he sprang into the bunk, walked across Skipper's heaving chest, and licked the acrid sweat of fever from Skipper's face. Instead, Skipper's wildly-thrashing arms brushed him away and flung him violently against the side of the bunk. This was roughness that was not love-roughness. Nor was it the roughness of Borckman spurning him away with his foot.
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