“Doubt swells and surges, with swelling doubt behind! My soul in storm is but a tattered sail, Streaming its ribbons on the torrent gale; In calm, 'tis but a limp and flapping thing: Oh! swell it with thy breath; make it a wing, To sweep through thee the ocean, with thee the wind Nor rest until in thee its haven it shall find." - George MacDonald, The Diary of An Old Soul
She clung to him and burst into tears--the relief, the joy of his return, the stress of the escape, all of it finally came out. "It's all right, love," he murmured as he held her, "You saved me. I'm all right." "Take me from here," she cried, "Take me somewhere, anywhere that's not here!"