Had they been in a volcanic region, Geoffrey would have thought that such weather preceded a shock of earthquake.

As it was he knew that the English climate was simply indulging itself at the expense of the population.
But as up to the present, the season had been cold, this knowledge did not console him.

Indeed he felt so choked in the stuffy little church that just before the sermon (which he happened to be aware was _not_ written by Beatrice) he took an opportunity to slip out unobserved.

Not knowing where to go, he strolled down to the beach, on which there was nobody to be seen, for, as has been observed, Bryngelly slept on Sundays.

Presently, however, a man approached walking rapidly, and to all appearance aimlessly, in whom he recognised Owen Davies.