They meant to help with the luggage, but they were instantly redundant. The Maenad’s crewmen swarmed over the stowage and hauled it onto the ship, leaving the lubbers to stare, mute and amazed. “Thank you, Gray,” Mrs. Singer said. A breeze played with loose strands of her uncovered hair, and her eyes were like green hills in sunlight. She seemed sad, drawn into herself. “Thank you for everything.” She handed Susan a gratuity in an embroidered silk purse. The purse alone was too fine a gift. Susan thought, and now two quid from his wife. Mrs. Singer joined Leopold on the gangway. He touched his lips to her forehead and never looked back to the dock or to Susan. She wanted to hate Marta Singer, but where was the fault in simply having been chosen? She could tell that Leopold loved his wife. And Susan had made her choice, too. Already, there was a change in that tender lump of pain that lived in her breast. It was cooling, becoming a hard emotionless knot. This ship was about to take Leopold Singer away from her forever.
