I dare not think. We have certainly helped each other
through this time of trial. It is a wonderful blessing, a companion in
misfortune.
But where, you may ask, is the third occupant of the cabin? Would it
not have been fearful if she, too, had been stretched on a couch of
languishing? Happily she is a good sailor, though she doesn't look it.
She is a little woman with a pale green complexion and a lot of sleek
black hair, and somehow gives one the impression of having a great
many more teeth than is usual. Her name is Mrs. Murray, and she is
going to India to rejoin her husband, who rejoices in the name of
Albert. Sometimes I feel a little sorry for Albert, but perhaps, after
all, he deserves what he has got. She has very assertive manners. I
think she regards G. and me as two young women who want keeping in
their places, though I am sure we are humble enough now whatever we
may be in a state of rude health. Happily she has friends on board,
so she rarely comes to the cabin except to tidy up before meals, and
afterwards to tell us exactly everything she has eaten. She seems to
have a good appetite and to choose the things that sound nastiest when
one is seedy.
No--I don't like Mrs. Murray much; but I dislike her hat-box more. It
is large and square and black, and it has no business in the cabin,
it ought to be in the baggage-room. Lying up here I am freed from its
tyranny, but on Saturday, when I was unpacking, it made my life a
burden.
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