She dragged herself out, and, in a very ecstasy of selfish
misery, I discarded my garments and burrowed into the warmth of my
bed. Never had blankets seemed more comfortable, for, between the
wind and the seasickness, I was chilled through and through.
I fell asleep through sheer exhaustion, and wakened some time after
in darkness. The waves were hissing and slapping at the porthole;
the second steward was cursing expertly in the linen closet, which
happened to be opposite our stateroom; and somewhere people in good
health were consuming viands, for cooking odors and the rattle of
dishes came to us. A door in the corridor opened, and the sound of
a cornet was wafted back from the forward deck. Somebody was playing
"The Holy City." Steps went by. A voice with an English accent said,
"By Jove, you can't get away from that tune," and, in one of those
instants of stillness which fall in the midst of confusion, I heard
a gurgling moan.
I snapped on the light and turned--at what cost only the seasick
can appreciate--to behold Miss R---- sitting on the floor with her
back to the wall. She was still shrouded in her golf cape and hood,
and contemplated her boots--which were on her feet, sticking straight
out before her--as if they were a source of mental as well as bodily
inconvenience. At intervals she rolled her head and gave utterance
to that shuddering moan.
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