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The wardroom was only three-quarters lit for the overnight shift, but after the stygian gloom of his cabin it felt like an assault, and he closed his eyes. Two voices greeted him.
A hand took his, and he allowed himself to be guided into a seat. He opened his eyes into a squint, finding himself beside Sergeant Strasser. “Thank you,” he said.
“Not at all,” said the sergeant. “Difficult weather we’ve got - expect the skipper’ll be rigging lifelines any moment.”
“Ah,” said Stephen. He wished he could come up with something braver to say in the face of certain destruction; lifelines must mean that Roth was near the end. Casting his eyes about he saw Mister Henreid sitting in his usual place, quietly turning the page of a book. I’m sailing with the original group of stoics, he thought.
“There’s a chess board in one of the stern lockers, if you fancy a game,” said Sergeant Strasser.
“Chess?”
“Oh, the pieces screw in,” said the sergeant quickly, “just a quarter turn to keep them in place, and the board clamps to the fiddle.”
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