We said very little for a long time: there was no room for anything but our bodies in the cramped berth, but some time towards morning, when the circle of the porthole was grey, I woke her and told her what the Gom had said to me. “We shan’t be rich,” I added quickly for fear of losing her again, “but we can afford Bournemouth next year…”
“No,” she said sleepily. “Let’s go to Le Touquet. They have a Casino there. But don’t let’s have a system.”
There was a promise I’d forgotten. I got up and took the great system out of my jacket-pocket and tore it in little pieces and threw them through the porthole—the white scraps blew back in our wake.
The sleepy voice said, “Darling, it’s terribly cold. It’s snowing.”
“I’ll close the porthole.”
“No. Just come back.”
EOF