“Raoul?” he said. “How’s Raoul? Is it serious?”
“He’s going to be fine.”
There was something else, something important. He frowned desperately and then remembered. “The radio room – downstairs. We must call Jersey. There are three motor torpedo boats just waiting for the right signal.”
“It’s all right,” she said. “Everything’s all right. We’ll take care of it.”
She pillowed his head against her breast, her arms about him. He turned into their softness, the sound of the sea in his ears, and slept.
The End