Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. He murmured his delight, and joined the bridge party, where he played with less than his accustomed skill. The discussion wandered, and was punctuated with bread and butter. There was only one clean spot in the picture—the ship's wash (all white) that fluttered on a line stretched between the two masts. She had to explain about and pay off that forty pounds. Then, as Ramage readjusted himself in a corner, he remarked: “These young people shoot up, Stanley.
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