Lady Evangeline Dupont clambered back out of the lifeboat to permit a mother with two young girls to squeeze into her place. She was eighty nine and belonged with the men. In fact, looking at some of the men, mere boys scrambling oily and terrified over the hull of the beleaguered ship, she felt some of the elder women ought to hand over their passage to them too.
As the lifeboat pushed off into the tumultuous night, Lady Evangeline felt a calmness overtake her. Somewhere out there was a preposterous submarine, filled with boorish, diesel slicked fascists. All around were choppy and sour smelling waters. She was far better off here. A better class of demise.
She turned to offer some quip to this effect to her neighbour, but lost her footing and slid directly over the side. The cold, coarse salt water surged up her crepe de chine skirts. It really was too vulgar.