“No, Plymouth would suit me well enough,” I said, grinning at his understandable misperception.
“The air is fresher, for one. A view of the sea would suit me, but not too near a view.”
The picture unfolded itself still further. “A modest white-painted cottage, a little orchard, perhaps even a wife, if she tolerates my day-dreaming. I should call it Hilltop Cottage. There would be vines and honeysuckle, and perhaps some fine oaks about.
I should like enough patients to balance my books, and sufficient that I may be of some service to the townsfolk, but not so many that they interfere with my writing. Does that seem unreasonable?”
“I think you are better suited to the sea than you realise.”
“And I am content that this will be my first and last voyage. I have not been truly happy at any time since we set sail. If I am not seasick, I am cold. If I am not cold, I am exhausted. When I am none of those things, I am frightened. Yet if there is one part of it that I shall not regret, it is our acquaintance.”
“It is not every friend that drills into another friend’s head.”
“Human affairs would be curious indeed, if that were the custom.”