In one of the cabins a man sat on the edge of his narrow bunk. He munched his popcorn steadily, periodically offering it to her, but not his Coke, as that would be too bold, a saliva exchange. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. She got up and unlocked the door. She let them fall and sped to the companion, where she stood for a moment, the moonlight giving her a celestial touch. Twice he cleaned the old briar; still there was no improvement. So Ruth found that for a while her eyes were free.
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