He gave a short dry laugh. "What a rotten deal," he said. "My dream was—different…. There is your boat—THAT one!… I'll say good luck. I'm assigned to a station on the port side. … Good luck…. And thank you, Eve."
"Don't go—"
"Yes, I must.. We'll find each other—ashore—or somewhere."
"Kay! The port boats can't be launched—"
"Take your place! you're next, Eve."… Her hand, which had clung to his, he suddenly twisted up, and touched the convulsively tightening fingers with his lips.
"Good luck, dear," he said gaily. And watched her go and take her place. Then he lifted his cap, as she turned and looked for him, and sauntered off to where his boat and station should have been had not the U-boat shells annihilated boat and rail and deck.
"What a devil of a mess!" he said to a petty officer near him. A young doctor smoking a cigarette surveyed his own life-suit and the clumsy apparel of his neighbours with unfeigned curiosity!
"How long do these things keep one afloat?" he inquired.
"Long enough to freeze solid," replied an ambulance driver.
"Did we get the Hun?" asked McKay of the petty officer.