"Say, it just got tangled up, Professor," declared Miles, plucking ineffectually at the coils of hemp, which only grew more snarled as his efforts continued.
* * * * * * * * * *
Is Miles the slapstick comedy relief or is he the Antichrist? I suppose he could be both and wouldn't that be an entertaining way for the world to end. Robert Frost didn't give us that choice. What good is his poetry if he can't throw in the possible death of the world by comic apocalypse?
I must say, I like Miles even more now, seeing as his attitude is laid back and unconcerned even when the ship is practically crashing to the ground. He begins with "Say" as if he just bumped into a casual acquaintance on the street and means to talk about the weather a bit. He uses the passive voice about the hemp rope, as if he isn't the one who screwed the pooch. Although now that I get to the part where he's "plucking ineffectually," I'm starting to see Miles as severely depressed and not just chill.
But we probably still have miles to go before he weeps.
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