The White Mountains (The Tripods)
“No one paid us any attention. For one thing, of course, it was a town, and people in a town did not expect to be able to identify everyone as local or foreigner, as they would in a village. And this was a port, also—a place of comings and goings, quite unlike the easy familiar round of the country. There was an exciting bustle of activity, the glimpse of sea at the end of a long street, men in blue jerseys sucking on pipes, a few tardy seagulls grabbing out of the air for food. And all the smel...ls: tobacco, tar, spices, the smell of the sea itself.
Dusk was thickening by the time we reached the harbor. There were dozens of boats of all sizes tied up, and others standing out in the harbor, sails close-reefed on their masts. We wandered along the quay, reading their names. The Maybelle, the Black Swan, Venturer, the Gay Gordon —but no Orion.
“She might be at sea,” I said.
“What do you think we should do?”
“We’ll have to find somewhere to sleep.”
Henry said, “I wouldn’t mind finding some food, as well.”MoreLess
Dusk was thickening by the time we reached the harbor. There were dozens of boats of all sizes tied up, and others standing out in the harbor, sails close-reefed on their masts. We wandered along the quay, reading their names. The Maybelle, the Black Swan, Venturer, the Gay Gordon —but no Orion.
“She might be at sea,” I said.
“What do you think we should do?”
“We’ll have to find somewhere to sleep.”
Henry said, “I wouldn’t mind finding some food, as well.”MoreLess
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