The signal continued to squeal. Durham moved to the bunk.
"Slide over."
"No."
But she did not fight him when he pushed himself in beside her and took her in his arms.
"The haughty Miss Hawtree," he said, and smiled. "You're a mess. Hair in your eyes. Make-up all smeared. Tears dripping off the end of your nose."
The light dimmed, became strange and eerie.
"They could have made this damned bunk a little wider."
"It doesn't matter. After a trip like this, I won't have any reputation left, anyway. Nobody would believe me on oath."
The fabric of the ship shifted, strained, slipped, moved. The fabric of Durham's body did likewise. He set his teeth and said,
"Don't worry, dear. I can always ask the captain to marry us."