This respite was altogether helpful. She had slept but
little during the gale, and its tremendous climax had surprised her
vitality at a low ebb.
When she awoke, the ravine was in shadow and the interior of the cave
was dark. Her first conscious sensation was that of almost intolerable
thirst. Her lips were blistered, her tongue and palate sore, and she
asked herself in alarm what new evil was afflicting her, until she
remembered the drenching she had received and the amount of salt-laden
air that had passed into her lungs. Nevertheless, she cried
involuntarily for water, and again she was offered wine. She managed
to smile in a strained fashion at this malicious humor of fortune. By
a freak of memory she called to mind the somewhat similar predicament
of the crew of a storm-tossed ship that she had once read about. They
ran short of water, but the vessel carried hundreds of cases of bottled
stout. During three long weeks of boating against the wind those
wretched men were compelled to drink stout morning, noon, and night,
and never did temperance argument apply with greater force to the
seafaring community than toward the end of that enforced regimen of
malt liquor.
Hozier, who had aroused her by touching her shoulder, fancied he saw
the gleam of merriment in her face.
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