“Like you,” she says, “I’m starting to wonder. What are we going to do?”

“Ah, so you see, it isn’t funny at all.”

“Well, all right, I have a pretty good idea,” she says. “Desperate ills call for desperate remedies. I’m going to go and find the Grand Turk. Surely there must be a Grand Turk in this country?”

“What? You wonder if there’s a Grand Turk? But the place is full of them. They’re all Grand Turks.”

“No, but I mean the grandest of all. The one and only Turk, if you prefer.”

“All right. And then what will you do with your one Grand Turk?”

“Women know very well how to make use of Grand Turks. I’m going to dance before the Grand Turk. I hope he’ll understand that.”

“As a matter of fact, if he has a pair of eyes, I think he will understand. But what will that gain us?”

“Some cash.”

“Hey now, Virgin of Lima, I don’t like this idea at all—of you dancing before the Grand Turk.”

“Why is that, sailor?”

“Well, that’s the way it is. Find something else.”

“All right then, I could sell myself for his harem.”

Night had fallen. She pressed her arm a little harder against Herman’s. “Let’s go on walking a little longer in your town of the mist, if you like,” she said. “Unfortunately, I know they speak English very well back at the Queen Elizabeth.”

•

The following day they took the eight o’clock stagecoach and by noon they were at Cricklade. They wouldn’t be departing again until six the next morning. The town was cold and dark. They went out into the fields. They came across a big stand of tall broom grass. “Look,” said Herman, “this too is a kind of town, with streets and squares. I used to pretend to get lost in thickets like this when I was a boy. Come on inside.”

They made their way in through the heavy stems, along corridors of a kind, and they actually reached the center of the thicket: a small green chamber, carpeted with very soft grass not yet touched by the night frosts.

“Let’s stay here,” she said. “Lie down next to me and listen: My name is Adelina White. Since I’m talking about myself, let’s make the most of it. This is something I thought about all day yesterday. Take a pencil and write down my address. I’d be so happy if you’d write to me when we’ve gone our separate ways.”

“It’s true,” he said, “we are going to be separated, in spite of the land of mist and the town on the mountain.”

“In spite of the land of mist and the town on the mountain, yes. Write this down: Adelina White, 16 Seething Road, Leeds. Hand me your pencil. Give me your address.”

“Herman Melville, 184 Mashpee Avenue, Massachusetts.”

“There we go. So my name is Adelina White. Are you aware of what happened in England last year?”