8Dawn broke at three o’clock in the morning and Rodney had not left the wheel all night. He was not conscious of feeling tired, but rather as if his body no longer belonged to him and was acting independently, so that sometimes he stared stupidly at his hands, watching them at the wheel and wondering how they knew the right thing to do.
Sometimes he talked with people who were not there, his voice low against the darkness, and somehow one with the murmur of the sea.
“Talk to me, Phillida,” he said once. “Why do you hide from me? I will find you, wherever you go, wherever you conceal yourself. You are mine! There is no escape. I will make you love me – ”
But it was not Phillida he saw against the night, but Lizbeth – her green eyes mocking him, haunting his dreams, until he imagined her
