“You don’t like it,” he groaned.
“I’m crazy about it.”
“If you could have seen it when it was only marsh and weeds and mud-holes and sluices you’d appreciate what we’ve reclaimed and the work that has been done.”
The motor pitched down a badly bruised road.
“Where’s the ship that’s nearly done––your mother’s ship?”
“Behind the shed, in among all that scaffolding.”
“Don’t tell me there’s a ship in there!”
“Yep, and she’s just bursting to come out.”
They entered the yard, past a guardian who looked as if a bottle of beer would buy him, and a breath strong enough to blow off the froth would blow him over.
Within a great cage of falsework Marie Louise could see the 178 ship that Davidge had dedicated to his mother. But he did not believe Marie Louise ready to understand it.