As he was leaving the saloon he looked back towards the cabin in
which Fenella lay asleep. His eyes were wet, his heart throbbed
painfully, he felt as if he were being banished from her presence as
by a curse. Renunciation--life-long renunciation--that was all that
was left to him now.
The fleet were in harbour when he went on deck, a hundred boats
huddled together. And when he stepped ashore the fish salesmen were
selling the night's catch by auction, and the bronze-faced and
heavy-bearded fishermen, in their big boots, were counting their
herrings in mixed English and Manx:
"Nane, jeer, three, kiare, quieg .... warp, tally!"