The roar of the waters had the merciless drumming insistence that was, she remembered, like the sound of German bombers during the war. It was something that must be faced, before it unnerved her completely. She turned around.

‘The rope is still all right?’

‘Yes. But do you not wish to wait a little, until you are better from the shock?’

‘No. I’ll go now.’

She stepped out, and felt the vicious undertow as the water whipped towards its plunge. Foot by foot she advanced, her hands on the holding line. Halfway across, a compulsion took her, and she looked down into the frothing tortured depths. She swayed a little and then, her eyes on the rock face ahead, continued to cross. Her movements did not seem to be coordinated by her brain; she was conscious of nothing but the twisting weight of water against her legs and its unchanging triumphant thunder.

There was a sensation of lightness and freedom as she moved out of the water to clamber along the last section of the rope, feeling for the small foot-hold afforded by the ledge. But as Henry reached down to help her up, the noise of the water dinned in her ears, a beast fed but still unsatisfied.