Lord of the Flies: Chapters 7-9

Jack had him by the hair and was brandishing his knife.

He rubbed his rump ruefully.

"I don't remember this cliff," said Jack, crestfallen, "so this must be the bit of the coast I missed."

So they sat, the rocking, tapping, impervious Roger and Ralph, fuming; round them the close sky was loaded with stars, save where the mountain punched up a hole of blackness.

Ralph surprised himself, not so much by the quality of his voice, which was even, but by the bravado of its intention.

Jack's voice went on, tremulous yet determined, pushing against the uncooperative silence.

Piggy gave up the attempt to rebuke Ralph.

Much of it was damply rotten and full of insects that scurried; logs had to be lined from the soil with care or they crumbled into sodden powder.

They worked therefore with great energy and cheerfulness, though as time crept by there was a suggestion of panic in the energy and hysteria in the cheerfulness.

If Jack was astonished by their fervor he did not show it.

This time Robert and Maurice acted the two parts; and Maurice's acting of the pig's efforts to avoid the advancing spear was so funny that the boys cried with laughter. At length even this palled.

There were no shadows under the trees but everywhere a pearly stillness, so that what was real seemed illusive and without definition.

Gorged, they alighted by his runnels of sweat and drank.

Then as the blue material of the parachute collapsed the corpulent figure would bow forward, sighing, and the flies settle once more.

Piggy once more was the center of social derision so that everyone felt cheerful and normal.