But Mary wiggled her toes in the sun and shook her head.
"You stay here, then, and I'll reconnoiter."
"No! I don't intend to be left alone."
"Let's hoist a signal of distress, then. That's always been done and it's considered perfectly good form."
"No."
"All right. Starve!" Pete made no effort to hide exasperation.
"I don't believe you'd care if I did."
His only answer to that was a gesture of despair. Who was it who claimed to understand woman? Pete would have been glad to submit this one for analysis and report.
He sat with his knees drawn up under his chin, staring out at the harbor. He was hungry. He was thirsty. He wanted a cigarette. He wanted to stretch his legs. He wanted to do anything except remain glued to a rock, like a shellfish. Why did she have to be so fussy on the subject of conventions? He knew that many a martyr had died cheerfully for a cause. But did ever one die for a cause like this?