Some fishing-
boats were becalmed just in front of us. Their shadows slept, or
almost slept, upon the water, a gentle quivering alone showing that
it was not complete sleep, or if sleep, that it was sleep with
dreams. The intensity of the sunlight sharpened the outlines of
every little piece of rock, and of the pebbles, in a manner which
seemed supernatural to us Londoners. In London we get the heat of
the sun, but not his light, and the separation of individual parts
into such vivid isolation was so surprising that even Marie noticed
it, and said it "all seemed as if she were looking through a glass."
It was perfect--perfect in its beauty--and perfect because, from the
sun in the heavens down to the fly with burnished wings on the hot
rock, there was nothing out of harmony. Everything breathed one
spirit. Marie played near us; Ellen and I sat still, doing nothing.
We wanted nothing, we had nothing to achieve; there were no
curiosities to be seen, there was no particular place to be reached,
no "plan of operations," and London was forgotten for the time. It
lay behind us in the north-west, and the cliff was at the back of us
shutting out all thought of it. No reminiscences and no
anticipations disturbed us; the present was sufficient, and occupied
us totally.
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