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Updated: June 13, 2025
As Ransome was lifting Grace Carden into the carriage, she said, in a sort of sleepy voice, "Is there no way out of these works but one?" "Not that I know of; but I will go at once and see. Shall he drive you home?" "Yes. No to Dr. Amboyne." Dr. Amboyne was gone to Woodbine Villa. She waited in his study, moving about the room all the time, with her face of marble, and her poor restless hands.
The perspiration of labour and sheer nervousness simply poured off our heads as we toiled to get the anchors cock-billed. I dared not look at Ransome as we worked side by side. We exchanged curt words; I could hear him panting close to me and I avoided turning my eyes his way for fear of seeing him fall down and expire in the act of putting forth his strength for what?
"Let the breakfast wait, sweep up every bit of it, and then throw the damned lot overboard!" The profound silence returned, and when I looked over my shoulder, Ransome the intelligent, serene Ransome had vanished from my side. The intense loneliness of the sea acted like poison on my brain. When I turned my eyes to the ship, I had a morbid vision of her as a floating grave.
She was awakened from them by the trampling of hoofs and the cheerful tootling of a horn. A four-in-hand approached and passed her; not so furiously but that she had time to recognise Lady Cayley on the box-seat, Mr. Gorst beside her, driving, and Mr. Ransome and Mr. Hannay behind amongst a perfect horticultural show in millinery.
The ship's head swung where it listed; the stilled sea took on the polish of a steel plate in the calm. I went below, not because I meant to take some rest, but simply because I couldn't bear to look at it just then. The indefatigable Ransome was busy in the saloon. It had become a regular practice with him to give me an informal health report in the morning.
She picked the flower up and handed it to Emily. "Dr. Ransome has been here," she said, feeling treacherous for the other man, after all, was her uncle. Emily took it, and laid it against the lace of her parasol, this way and that. "I've always, as far back as I can remember, meant to be somebody, something," said Emily. She said it without emotion, as one states a fact.
For many years after this event, Eldon Parr lived modestly in what was known as a "stone-front" house in Ransome Street, set well above the sidewalk, with a long flight of yellow stone steps leading to it; steps scrubbed with Sapoho twice a week by a negro in rubber boots.
Then about four o'clock in the morning a light would gleam forward in the galley. The unfailing Ransome with the uneasy heart, immune, serene, and active, was getting ready for the early coffee for the men. Presently he would bring me a cup up on the poop, and it was then that I allowed myself to drop into my deck chair for a couple of hours of real sleep.
Slowly, deliberately, spinning out her thread of time, she gathered what she had strewed; she gathered into a handful the little scraps and snippets of blue silk, powdered with the gray ashes from the hearth, and dropped them in the fire, watching till the last shred was utterly destroyed. There was a faint cry overhead and Ransome started up. The cry or his movement clenched her resolution.
Hannay and Ransome raised their hats to Mrs. Majendie as they passed. Gorst was too much absorbed in Lady Cayley. Anne shivered, chilled and sick with the resurgence of her old disgust. These were her husband's chosen associates and comrades; they stood by one another; they were all bound up together in one degrading intimacy. His dear friend Mr. Gorst was the dear friend of Lady Cayley.
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