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She ran back to the Allisons’ suite to implore them to dress and come up to the Boat Deck. But her pleas succeeded only in further enraging Mr. Allison. Mr. and Mrs. Emil Taussig came onto the deck just as Captain Smith and several officers were preparing Lifeboat No. 8. Even then, the white-bearded, patriarchal captain cut a reassuring figure, no small feat for a beaten man whose heart was breaking. Mr. Taussig gently guided his eighteen-year-old daughter, Ruth, to the Captain, who held out his hand and helped her into the empty boat.
A buxom twenty-five-year-old, she was the personal maid to Mrs. Hudson Allison and shared a first-class cabin with Helen Loraine, the Allisons’ two-year-old daughter. After a moment’s hesitation, she knocked on the door of the adjoining cabin, where Mr. and Mrs. Allison had just fallen asleep, and said, rather timorously, that she thought the ship had encountered some trouble. “Sarah, you’re nervous,” Mr. Allison said. “Go back to bed. ” The Countess wrapped herself in a floor-length silk dressing gown.
Looking out the starboard windows, they saw something remarkable: an iceberg towering some ninety feet high. Yet, strange as it was to encounter any object on the open sea, they were neither startled nor impressed nor fazed. They watched the berg disinterestedly until the ship glided by it. Then, without comment, they resumed their game. Did they have a moment of fear? No, they did not. For them, as for most men and women journeying in first class, the Titanic was a microcosm of life as they knew it: opulent and privileged and amply fortified against the possibility of disaster.
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