He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. He talked in the same style, and pretty nearly in the same language; laughed in the same manner, and coughed, or sneezed at the same time. This, then, must be the person whom he had seen spring upon the western platform at the time of the collision between the boats. He tried not to think—of Ruth with her mother's locket, of her misguided father, taking his lonely way to sea.
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