The wind was brisk, but blew in the wrong direction to flood through her windows. The low ceilings compounded the feeling of unbearable closeness, and her breath seemed woolly and hot in her lungs. The tedium of the journey, too, had begun to grind her down. At one stage, she saw another ship, but it steered to the east and soon disappeared, probably for Cape de Verd or the coast of Africa. Apart from that, and the occasional excitement of seeing flying fish, she grew fatigued by her own company. She read her astronomy books and worked her way through a complete edition of Shakespeare that Father had aboard. The thrill of adventure had long been replaced by boredom. How she longed for Daphne’s bright company, for somebody to speak to. She supposed she could have spoken to her father, but he was all but a stranger to her. The closer she drew to adulthood, the less they could find in common. What would she say to him? What could they talk about that wouldn’t lead to his chastising her in some way?
