Then again he frowned.
"Peter flung my arm," he said, wincing, "to a crocodile that happened to be passing by." "I have often," said Smee, "noticed your strange dread of crocodiles." "Not of crocodiles," Hook corrected him, "but of that one crocodile." He lowered his voice.

"It liked my arm so much, Smee, that it has followed me ever since, from sea to sea and from land to land, licking its lips for the rest of me." "In a way," said Smee, "it's sort of a compliment." "I want no such compliments," Hook barked petulantly.

"I want Peter Pan, who first gave the brute its taste for me." He sat down on a large mushroom, and now there was a quiver in his voice.

"Smee," he said huskily, "that crocodile would have had me before this, but by a lucky chance it swallowed a clock which goes tick tick inside it, and so before it can reach me I hear the tick and bolt." He laughed, but in a hollow way.
"Some day," said Smee, "the clock will run down, and then he'll get you." Hook wetted his dry lips.

"Ay," he said, "that's the fear that haunts me." Since sitting down he had felt curiously warm.