He, on the sandhills, watched the great pale coast envelop her.

She grew smaller, lost proportion, seemed only like a large white bird toiling forward.
"Not much more than a big white pebble on the beach, not much more than a clot of foam being blown and rolled over the sand," he said to himself.
She seemed to move very slowly across the vast sounding shore.

As he watched, he lost her.

She was dazzled out of sight by the sunshine.
Again he saw her, the merest white speck moving against the white, muttering sea-edge.
"Look how little she is!" he said to himself.

"She's lost like a grain of sand in the beach--just a concentrated speck blown along, a tiny white foam-bubble, almost nothing among the morning.