David had no idea what to say. If he hadn’t been put in charge he’d have done exactly what they suggested. But Kennebec had put him in a difficult position and for an instant all he could think of was a snatch of verse from his school days.
Three corpses lay out on the shining sands
In the morning gleam as the tide went down
And the women were weeping and wringing their hands
For those who will never come home to the town.
He almost called the rest to Henry Whelan, who was sure to know it anyway.
For men must work and women must weep,
And the sooner it’s over the sooner to sleep
And good-bye to the bar and its moaning.
Mary had always protested when he recited that one to her. She said it was morbid.
“Hang on,” David said. The tank was now silent, pondering its own smaller proble
