"When this—this voyage is over—" the song had come to an end, but no one about either moved or spoke—"and when I have made it right for me to do it," Preston continued, "I am coming to you, as I said; I am coming to you, and I shall tell you—no, not many things—but just one! I can't say the words to you till then, but I know I shall always think of them as belonging with this moment—this moment with you beside me here in the shadow of this boat and with a little girl singing up to us from the deck below."
"Do you think," Preston just caught the words, "that you—that you must make it right for you to say—what you want—to me?"
About them no one had stirred, and in their place in the shadow they seemed even further from all the rest and more infinitely apart.
"Do you mean, Ethel," he whispered fearfully, "do you mean, Ethel," her name on his lips made him very bold, "that you, too, would
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