But how futile the whole thing was, how wet and miserable and vile! It must have been something like this in the trenches, only worse. What was that going past? A bottle, a Bass bottle with a screw stopper, bobbing about like an old man walking. Ha-ha! What would he do when he found Emily? What the devil would he do? Sink her again? But he had no anchor now⁠—nothing. Put her ashore on the Island? But somebody would find her. Take her out of the sack⁠—the incriminating sack? If she was found by herself, a mere body, in a nightdress.⁠ ⁠… In a nightdress? The nightdress wouldn’t do. She mustn’t be found in a nightdress. He would have to get rid of that too⁠—that and the sack. Then anyone might find her, and it would be a mystery. And Stephen’s stories⁠ ⁠… Stephen’s stories about her levity and light conduct⁠—they would come in useful. People like Mrs. Bantam would quite understand, now they knew what sort of person Emily had been. John realized with a sudden shame that he was feeling glad that Stephen had said those things.