There was only one clean spot in the picture—the ship's wash (all white) that fluttered on a line stretched between the two masts. Such names shone brightly in the darkness, with black spaces of unilluminated emptiness about them, as stars shine in the night; but now—now it was different; now it was dawn—the real dawn. He drew a little breath and stepped back. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. Well, they’d got to the pheasants, and in a little while he would smoke. His hug became an embrace.
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