No. 6 rowed furiously. The coast was almost out of sight; this time (damn it) he was going to escape from the Village. But then, as if out of nowhere, the red monitoring balloon was upon him. He let his oars dangle uselessly in their rollocks, and wept bitterly. There really was no escape.
Can be imagined as one of those slightly deflated balloons in that classic series. Good work.
John