Clear water gave away to gray as she waded deeper, feeling her slippers on rock. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. And from then on we'll see them, port and starboard, to the end of the voyage. Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby. Sometimes the moon was totally eclipsed; at others, it shed a wan and ghastly glimmer over the masses rolling in the firmament.
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