The unexpected twist—his disclosure to McClintock—had given Spurlock but temporary relief. He sat down. ‘No need to shake in your boots,’ Gerald said soothingly. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. In addition, the Fadden Dance business, all out of proportion, occupied the whole foreground of her thoughts and threw a color of rebellion over everything. My very sentences stumble and give way. The foremost, tall, clean-shaven, perfectly groomed, half extended his hand with a smile of recognition.
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