more distant, she knew that Garth lay, alone and afraid, twisting his fingers in the edge of the blanket and listening for something. She remembered Jim's saying once: "The biggest sort of courage is being afraid to do something—and doing it."
Joan had lost all idea of how long she had been rowing when a long swell rose suddenly under the boat. She felt it hang poised on the crest of the roller; then it slid up the beach, drenching her as the stern swung around. She leaped out before the backwash could sweep the boat into the surf again, and dragged it up the sand. Dripping, she stood for a moment to get her bearings, then ran into the darkness up the shore. The wind soughed and rustled in the stiff grass on invisible dunes; the light surf hissed and rattled among loose pebbles. A great bittern rose suddenly from the beach-plum bushes, startling Joan as he flapped away with a raucous cry. She stumbled and slid in the deep, cold sand. Sometimes she splashed through the edge of a silently gliding wave. Her wet skirt clung to her, making every step more difficult.
If only she could see! The darkness seemed to weigh on her, to choke and smother her. It
