“You know I want you. You know that I’d give my soul to pick you up in my arms and keep you here, hidden away from the world, forever and ever. And you’re tempting me, Anne. You, with your long witch’s hair, and your eyes that are golden and brown and green and never stop laughing even when your mouth is grave. But I’ll save you from yourself and from me. You shall go tonight. You shall go to Beira⁠—”

“I’m not going to Beira,” I interrupted.

“You are. You shall go to Beira if I have to take you there myself and throw you on to the boat. What do you think I’m made of? Do you think I’ll wake up night after night, fearing they’ve got you? One can’t go on counting on miracles happening. You must go back to England, Anne⁠—and⁠—and marry and be happy.”

“With a steady man who’ll give me a good home!”

“Better that than⁠—utter disaster.”

“And what of you?”