The murmuring of the wonderful prose consoled her, lulled her. She read on and on. What a strange book! What was it about? She could not tell. It did not matter. About the Sea. . . .
"What's that you're reading, Mill?"
She looked back to the cover.
"Moby-Dick."
"What a name! I wonder how it got here."
"Perhaps Henry left it."
"I daresay. He's always reading something queer."
The comfortable little clock struck seven.
"You'd better eat something, you know."