Khorre says sternly:
“It was he who got me out of bed.”
“He will get you out of bed again.”
“No!” roars Khorre furiously. “I will get up myself at night. Do you hear, Dan? I will get up at night and break your music.”
“And I will spit into your sea.”
“Try,” says the sailor distrustfully. “How will you spit?”
“This way,” and Dan, exasperated, spits in the direction of the sea. The frightened Khorre, in confusion, says hoarsely:
“Oh, what sort of man are you? You spat! Eh, Dan, look out; it will be bad for you—you yourself are talking about those who died at sea.”
Dan shouts, frightened:
“Who speaks of those that perished at sea? You, you dog!”