The bluebottle fly moved slowly and cautiously across Weymouth Bay, apparently seeking some invisible atom of sustenance, seeking it now off Redcliff, now off Ringstead, now off White Nore.
A sudden nervousness came upon him and he shivered a little. âWhat if this new reality, when it does come, smashes up my whole secret life? But perhaps it wonât be like a rock or stoneâ ââ ⌠perhaps it wonât be like a tank or lorry or an aeroplaneâ ââ âŚâ
He clasped his bony fingers tightly together. âSome girl whoâll let me make love to herâ ââ ⌠âwhite as a peeled willow-wandââ ââ ⌠make love to her in the middle of a hazel woodâ ââ ⌠green mossâ ââ ⌠primrosesâ ââ ⌠moschatelâ ââ ⌠whiteness.â ââ âŚâ He unclasped his fingers; and then clasped them again, this time with the left hand above the right hand.
It was nearly twelve oâclock when the train drew up at Longborne Port, a village which he knew was the last stop before he reached Ramsgard.