Crossing On the Paris
“The view from her window was black—it couldn’t be more than five o’clock—but the seas were clearly raging. From this perspective—a first-class suite on the uppermost deck—it was almost pleasant. What a contrast to her first hearty sea adventures, when the waves came crashing over the rails, soaking your skin and nearly flinging you off the boat. Snug in bed, Bibi at her side, she was smiling, assured there was no real danger, when she heard a crash.
She bolted up and groped for the lamp, then p...eered around the room for the source of the noise. Relieved to find the window intact, she was nonetheless disgruntled to see her portrait lying facedown on the floor.
A chill on her skin and an ache in her bones, she slowly eased herself out of bed, navigating the tilting floor. She grasped the picture with both hands, then swiftly returned to the warmth of the blankets.
Vera held the drawing in front of her, this portrait dating back to her prime. In it, her long hair was loosely gathered under a broad-brim hat, a hint of veil covering her face.MoreLess
She bolted up and groped for the lamp, then p...eered around the room for the source of the noise. Relieved to find the window intact, she was nonetheless disgruntled to see her portrait lying facedown on the floor.
A chill on her skin and an ache in her bones, she slowly eased herself out of bed, navigating the tilting floor. She grasped the picture with both hands, then swiftly returned to the warmth of the blankets.
Vera held the drawing in front of her, this portrait dating back to her prime. In it, her long hair was loosely gathered under a broad-brim hat, a hint of veil covering her face.MoreLess
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