Explore "The Mutiny of the Elsinore" by Jack London on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The more I see of Miss West the more she pleases me. Explain it in terms of propinquity, or isolation, or whatever you will; I, at least, do not attempt explanation. I know only that she is a woman and desirable. And I am rather proud, in a way, to find that I am just a man like any man. The midnight oil, and the relentless pursuit I have endured in the past from the whole tribe of women, have not, I am glad to say, utterly spoiled me.
I am obsessed by that phrase-a _woman and desirable_. It beats in my brain, in my thought. I go out of my way to steal a glimpse of Miss West through a cabin door or vista of hall when she does not know I am looking. A woman is a wonderful thing. A woman's hair is wonderful. A woman's softness is a magic. -Oh, I know them for what they are, and yet this very knowledge makes them only the more wonderful. I know-I would stake my soul-that Miss West has considered me as a mate a thousand times to once that I have so considered her. And yet-she is a woman and desirable.