A pen in her hands became a thing one caressed paper with, and she might have been stroking and tickling a kitten as she wrote: Picture us, my dear, afloat in the very oddest ship you can imagine.
It's not the ship, so much as the people.

One does come across queer sorts as one travels.

I must say I find it hugely amusing.

There's the manager of the line--called Vinrace--a nice big Englishman, doesn't say much--you know the sort.

As for the rest--they might have come trailing out of an old number of _Punch_.