One of them close by Vandover's feet, he noticed particularly, had but a single garment to cover her.

She was drenched through and through, her bare feet were blue with the cold, her head was thrown back, her eyes closed.

She was silent except when an unusual gust of wind whipped the rain and spray across her body like the long, fine lash of a whip.

Then with every breath she moaned, drawing in her breath between her teeth with a little whistling gasp, too weak, too exhausted, too nearly unconscious to attempt to shield herself in any way.
Vandover could do nothing; he had almost stripped himself to help clothe the others.

Nothing more could be done.