The great snow-mountains of heaven moved grandly on before the west wind, ever changing outline, meeting to incorporate mass with mass, sundering with magic softness and silence.

The bay of Pevensey spread with graceful line its white fringe of breakers now low upon the strand, far away to the cliffs of Hastings.
'Hastings!' Thyrza exclaimed, when Mrs.Ormonde had mentioned the name.
'Is that where the battle of Hastings was ?' 'A little further inland.

You have read of that ?' 'Gilbert--Mr.Grail is teaching me history.

Yes, I know about Hastings.' 'And what country do you think you would come to, if you went right over the sea yonder ?' 'That must be--really ?--where William the Conqueror came from?
That was Normandy, in France.' 'Yes, France is over there.' 'France?
France ?' No, it was too hard to believe.

She murmured the name to herself.
Gilbert had shown it her on the map, but how difficult to transfer that dry symbol into this present reality! They left the carriage near the Coastguard's house, and walked forward to the brow of the great cliffs.