“Michael O’Hagan crossed himself as the boat, relieved of their weight, floated off immediately, with the carpenter, who now had the oars they had used to get to this point, quick to drop them into the water and spin round to haul off. There was no farewell, no cheering cry of good fortune to set them on their way, which reflected the silence with which he had accompanied them on the journey: it had not been a trip laced with anything in the way of conversation or advice. The sight that gree...ted them, a huge area of flat, damp sand turning to a bank of that mixed with shingle quite some way off, in a featureless landscape, did not cheer either, while one isolated lean-to hut, far away along the highest point of the scrub-covered dune, in truth not much in height, showed no sign of occupancy. Along the seemingly endless shoreline, in the distance, a few forlorn-looking boats were up out of the water, sitting on the baulks of round, tar-soaked timber used to protect the hull from damage as it was hauled above the high-water mark – that a wavy line of seaweed stretching away on either side – while in the direction from which they had come, the faint outline of what they had been told was Hayling Island, a thick line of trees, was just visible through the mist.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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