Betrothal -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction; Families -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction
The Cove was hidden by black rocks, piled together, seeming, through the
mist, to be animals herded together to guard its sanctity. Under the
rocks the Cove lay, curved like a small golden saucer, the sea forming
here a thin glassy lake, protected by a further range of rocks that
extended, as though placed there by human agency, across the mouth of
the tiny circle. The water within the rocks was utterly clear, the
seaweed, red-gold and green, covering the inside of the cup: when the
waves broke beyond the barrier they were echoed here by a faint ripple
that trembled, in green shadows, like a happy sigh across the surface,
and, with this ripple, came the echo of the dull boom that the surging
tide was making in the distant caves: this echo was a giant’s chuckle,
sinister, malevolent, but filtered. When the tide was coming in, the
ripples, running in faint lines from side to side, covered the shining
surface of the rocks and stones, with layers of water, thin and fine
like silk, now purple, now golden, now white and grey.
The silk stretched over the rocks, drew itself taut, then spilt itself
suddenly, with a delighted ecstasy, in cascades of shining water, into
the breast of the retreating tide. As the tide went out, very
reluctantly the colour withdrew from the rocks, leaving them, at last,
hard and dry beneath the sun ... but at the heart of the smooth, glassy
cup, on these warm spring days, there was a great peace and content:
birds, sea-gulls, sparrows, thrushes, came to the edge of the golden
sand, and with trembling, twittering happiness listened to the hollow
booming in the distant caves.
Lying there, on the little beach, upon such a spring day as this, man
might be assured that the world had been made only for his especial
comfort and safety. The intense blue of the sky, the green wall of hill
behind him, these things could not change: for an hour of his journey,
life, gay rather than solemn, humorous rather than ironic, satisfying
and complete, would seem to be revealed to him. He would wonder that he
had ever doubted it....
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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