He listened
for a few moments and heard nothing. Once in a while a cold wind blew
on his face. At first he could not understand where that wind was coming
from, but after a while he understood that it came from the lungs of the
monster. I forgot to tell you that the Shark was suffering from asthma,
so that whenever he breathed a storm seemed to blow.
Pinocchio at first tried to be brave, but as soon as he became convinced
that he was really and truly in the Shark's stomach, he burst into sobs
and tears. "Help! Help!" he cried. "Oh, poor me! Won't someone come to
save me?"
"Who is there to help you, unhappy boy?" said a rough voice, like a
guitar out of tune.
"Who is talking?" asked Pinocchio, frozen with terror.
"It is I, a poor Tunny swallowed by the Shark at the same time as you.
And what kind of a fish are you?"
"I have nothing to do with fishes. I am a Marionette."
"If you are not a fish, why did you let this monster swallow you?"
"I didn't let him. He chased me and swallowed me without even a 'by your
leave'! And now what are we to do here in the dark?"
"Wait until the Shark has digested us both, I suppose.
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