’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it. ’ Hilary stared. She rested her head upon his shoulder. Of course she had often heard sailors hammering out their ditties. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. She romanticized, imagining a life on the High Seas. ‘But for now, I’m taking you home.
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