The beach was littered with palm-thatch umbrellas and half-naked, kippering bodies, and the Marina packed with seagoing craft of every description.

One feels that here the old pagan gods have come into their own again, the ones we acknowledge every day of the week without thinking — Tue, Woden, Thor and Freia; and certainly nature herself has reclaimed what was once a site cleared of vegetation.

[…] the multitude were in no bad humour at being now and then besprinkled with friendly showers of momentary duration […]

The bifurcated look had something weirdly haremlike about it and, however liberating, was light only in relation to what had come before.