"Awful!" she gasped.

Her lips were white inside.
Planting her feet wide, Helen contrived to pour champagne into a tumbler with a tooth-brush in it.
"Champagne," she said.
"There's a tooth-brush in it," murmured Clarissa, and smiled; it might have been the contortion of one weeping.

She drank.
"Disgusting," she whispered, indicating the basins.

Relics of humour still played over her face like moonshine.
"Want more ?" Helen shouted.

Speech was again beyond Clarissa's reach.
The wind laid the ship shivering on her side.