“You swim, of course.”
“All islanders swim, like river rats. You should see the breakers at Cumberland—twenty miles of them down to Dungeness. It takes a swimmer to get through there, and back, when the wind is in the northeast. But it’s second nature with the natives. They ride the combers like wild horses.”
“How long have you ever been in the water—there, among the—wild horses?” She leaned forward eagerly, her eyes searching his every feature.
“Ten hours, once. You see I was pretty small and the tide took me out. But it couldn’t drown me. And a lumber boat happened along.”
“But if the boat hadn’t happened along?”
“Oh, the tide would have brought me back. Dead, maybe, but I think not. I am a floater. Some swimmers are not balanced right for floating. Women hardly ever.” She gave him a friendly smile.
“And there is where your home is?”
“What the war left of it—two wings of a cochina house and an unbroken view of desolation. But it was home.”
“Now you are talking sensibly. Home! That’s always worth talking about. Let’s quit the foolish love business.”
“And yet, it is love that makes the home.”