S. She romanticized, imagining a life on the High Seas. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. “Does a bear shit in the woods?” He said. "Why? Because I love her! Because I loved her at the start, but was too big a fool to know it!" His own astonishment was quite equal to McClintock's. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river.
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