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Updated: June 23, 2025
The Farralones Islands, great pinky-gray needles of bleak rock, were sticking up somewhere in the silvery haze on our starboard side, and I loathed the Farralones Islands, and the clean white ship, and myself most of all for embarking upon an idiotic voyage. Arrived in the stateroom, it was with little less than horror that I saw Miss R in the lower berth my berth.
We were to start in a week, and I could scarcely believe that the whole affair was other than a dream, as I sat at the open window smoking till the pinky-gray dawn of Christmas Day broke over the scrubby garden of the hotel.
Then came a straight and simple street suit of blue cloth, a lingerie gown of white, hats, shoes and even a couple of limp satin petticoats. The day was gone before we could finish. I bullied them into promising the pinky-gray gown for the next afternoon. "Sooch funs!" giggled Frau Nirlanger, "and how it makes one tired. So kind you were, to take this trouble for me.
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