If this book is meant to instill in you a fear of drowning, it succeeded. If it is meant to give you a haunting inner-dialogue of what it is like to live moments away from death, it succeeded. And if it is meant to make you very wary of ever getting into a car with a drunken senator on a warm and not-so-innocent Martha's Vineyard night in the late 60s, it succeeded in that, too. What can be taken away from this story? Stupid, terrible, scary things happen.
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