But the shot went wide, and I only pulled the harder, and was not greatly in fear, for shooting from a jumping boat is easy, but hitting a jumping mark is quite another matter.
We drove past Moie de Bretagne, with the green seas leaping up its fretted sides and lacing them with rushing white threads as they fell.

How often had Carette and I sat watching that white lacery of the rocks and swum out through the tumbling green to see it closer still.

Good times they were, and my thought shot through them like an arrow as we swung past Rouge Cane Bay and opened Gorey.
But these times were better, even though death came weltering close behind us.

For, come what might, we were man and woman, and all the man within me, and what there might be of God, clave to this sweet woman who sat before me--who sat of her own choice between me and death--and I knew that she loved me as I loved her, and my heart was full and glad in spite of the hunting Death behind.
We were in among the tumbled rocks.

I knew them like a book.