Chapter Text
Hornblower had again come to dread the full moon. Time and use had made clear that none of the ship’s company had anything to fear from Bush even in his condition, except defaulters, and perhaps the chickens. But in his own miserable self-consciousness, his thin and hairless limbs—his harmless teeth—his pared nails he felt at this time to be the marks of a coward. He had once dined next to a lady who had deplored the condition of the unfortunate lycanthropes; he had been tempted to tell her that nothing made a man more truly fit to fight.