She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. No one. ‘Wait! No time for that. Once a sick sailor drew three pictures for me and set down every stay and brace and sail—square-rigger, schooner, and sloop. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. Never was there another girl like this one. "Drink your peg; don't bother about me. “It’s okay, Michelle. I suppose I ought to have been a man.
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