It was more than sleep, this still peace, because there was no thought of waking to any shore.
But the far-off sound repeated itself again, again, again and again, monotonously.

Something was calling to Something.

She was so given up to the soft drifting that she had no thoughts to give, and gave none.

In drifting so, one did not think--thought was left in the far-off place the white sea carried one from.

She sank quietly a little deeper and the water touched her lip.