will not know.

'Deep, deep in the heart of the sea hide brine-bred monsters; living
there, dying there; never touching the thin, vacant air, never facing the
broad eye of heaven. Quick death by the grip of huge jaws meets the
drowning there. Your might--yours--is puny: you never could cope with the
fierce sea-wolves. And your limbs are heavy and slow: you could not play
with the dolphin and mock at the shark. To me come all by love or fear.
The frailest shape afloat, that fears a shadow, into my palms drops from
the waves; and uncouth herds leave browsing to hustle their finned heads
under my hands. And the terrible breeds, the restive, I catch by the mane
and school, against their resistance driving sharp ivory hard between the
joints of their mail. How they wrestle and course, as pride of their
strength is mine, and joy of their speed is mine--ah! most supremely
when they most dispute it. Your eyes declare wonder, since your broad
limbs could match the banded strength of a score of my slight mould. I
grant it here, where the touch of the earth and the touch of the air are
dull, faint, weak, to flesh and blood nourished of the deeps; but life
and vigour and strength transcendent evolve from the embrace of the salt,
cold sea, from deep indraughts of keen brine.

'Down in the deepest lies sleeping the oldest of living creatures, placid
in a valley of the sea. His vast green coil spreads out for leagues;
where his great heart beats slow the waters boil; he lifts an eyelid, and
the waves far, far above are lit with phosphor light. Runs a tremor
because of his dreams, I sink to the weedy ears and chant peace,
unaffrighted, sure that no fret can withstand my song. Shall he once roar
and lash with all his spines, your coasts will crumble and be not.

'What, you--you with a soul, get quickened breath and eager eyes from a
few empty words, as though even in you woke the sting of a splendid
desire for entering the reserves of the sea, with intimacy and dominion
like mine. No--no--stand off! content you with the earth and air.
Never--never shall you lay your hand upon my breast, nor set your lips to
mine, nor gain the essential word, for you count your soul as priceless,
and never will let it go.'

She ceased. Christian suddenly crossed himself, turned his back, and went
from her and her magic. The forward tide checked his feet; its crisp
murmur and great undertones uttered a voluble, soft chorus on that
strange monologue. H