My supplies are running low.
I must confess I have been eating dog food from the first class stores (not as bad as you think – just imagine course pate) as my previous trips to the nearby vending machine have cleaned out the clunky, buckety thing.
I have considered returning to the restaurant, but the attacks over the past few days have taken their toll on my patience – God knows what I’d do.
I barely slept through the night. There is no soothing sound of the ocean. There are only the rude wails of the passenger manifest growing ever smaller. And although I am confident I can find sustenance in other cabins, my nerves are shot. Visible shakes? Even in the relative safety of your own cabin?
Lucy, darling. What’s wrong? Keep going like this, and you’ll be easy prey to the first, imbecilic moron who blunders along with a polo mallet!
I know you would want me to play it safe, Maud.
You were always the sensible one.