“Very well,” she would say, “then I must go. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. There was another little thing he had to say. It was the last thing she felt like drinking. He trembled violently. Sometimes at sea a skipper will order his men to trim, batten down the hatches, and clear the deck of all litter. She began to miss him when he was gone during the day and cherish the quiet times he spent only with her. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered.
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