The plain fact of the situation is that we're being hustled toward an amphibious thing with paddle-wheels named _The Skylark_, and I haven't said good-bye to you.
"Ailsa, it isn't likely that anything is going to knock my head off or puncture vital sections of me.

But in case the ludicrous should happen, I want you to know that a cleaner man goes before the last Court Marshal than would have stood trial there before he met you.
"You are every inch my ideal of a woman--every fibre in you is utterly feminine.

I adore your acquired courage, I worship your heavenly inconsistencies.

The mental pleasure I experienced with you was measured and limited only by my own perversity and morbid self-absorption; the splendour of the passion I divine in you, unawakened, awes me, leaves me in wonder.

The spiritual tonic, even against my own sickly will has freshened me by mere contact with the world you live in; the touch of your lips and hands--ah, Ailsa--has taught me at last the language that I sneered at.
"Well--we can never marry.