“I’m damned if I’ll believe it,” he muttered to himself savagely. There were three exit doors. I said, that day at Surbiton, ‘There’s many good things in life, but there’s only one best, and that’s the wild-haired girl who’s pulling away at that oar. The likeness was ridiculous. The man’s passion became almost unbearable at the thought of losing her. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. Their momentary absence seemed to have worked wonders; for now the most perfect understanding appeared to subsist between them. If he did resemble me, I shouldn't care about him.
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