“You ain’t strong enough,” suddenly said Raft.
It was as though he had touched some spring in her character that set the machinery of determination working.
“I am strong enough,” she replied. Then after a moment’s pause something in her began speaking, something that seemed allied to conscience, rather than thought, something that spoke almost against her will.
“We ought to go, we ought not to lose any chance. It seems almost hopeless, but it is the right thing to do. To stay here is not fighting, and in this place one has to fight if one wants to live or to get away. I feel that. To sit here with one’s hands folded is wicked.”
“Well, I believe in making a fight,” said the other, “question is, will we be any the better.”
“There’s always the chance.”
“Ay, there’s always a chance.”
Then an idea came to her.
“How about the boat?” she asked.
“That old boat along the beach?”