“Festuca and bamboo grass tied the sand-hills into shape, giving promise of a more or less permanent barricade between land and sea. Two miles away, clear in the placid June afternoon, the quarantine station on the cape spilt bungalows, outhouses and offices in profusion down the headland slope, like an untidy vine unpruned by government economies, flourishing recklessly. The island, sky-floating above its shadow, seemed closer than ever. Sea tango’d in lyrical blue, mutations of indigo, ultrama...rine, cobalt. From this point up the coast it was impossible to see the breakwater that created the artificial harbour or the clumsy hulks of coastal trawlers and freighters that put in twice weekly. But one was aware of their actuality, just as the unseen presence of township, hill, and river made itself felt six miles away. Silence hung in white arcs between island and coast, dune and dune, so that the regular lapping and smacking of water along the beach became an integral part of it. Winter breathed lightly on the tropics.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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