For this is the truth about our soul, he thought, who fish-like inhabits deep seas and plies among obscurities threading her way between the boles of giant weeds, over sun-flickered spaces and on and on into gloom, cold, deep, inscrutable; suddenly she shoots to the surface and sports on the wind-wrinkled waves; that is, has a positive need to brush, scrape, kindle herself, gossiping.
| Game | Time | WPM | Accuracy |
|---|---|---|---|
| 55 | 2025-07-09 13:06:13 | 51.68 | 97% |
| 23 | 2025-06-12 02:52:23 | 47.73 | 96% |
| 19 | 2025-06-12 02:42:32 | 48.06 | 97% |