"Yes," replied the latter. He felt himself a hero, now, after having defied the octopus.
"Think well about it," said Wistik.
"What does he look like?"
"What do you think?"
"I think," said Johannes, beginning to look stern and angry, "I think he looks like Marjon's sister."
"Why?" asked Wistik.
"Because I hate her! Because whatever I think beautiful she always spoils for me, and spoils it through the remembrance alone. She looks like Marjon, and she also looks like that dear friend about whom I am always thinking; and yet she is not the same—she is ugly and common. She kissed me once, and it has spoiled my life."
"Wrong, Johannes! He does not look in the least like that," said Wistik.
Suddenly, Johannes noticed that the bright light was growing dimmer, and that the great firm rocks began to quiver and shake as if seen through heated air, uneven glass, or flowing water.
Then, all at once, he knew, without descrying it, through an inner feeling of nameless distress, that It was sitting behind him.