A day of turquoise and diamond.
The air itself was diaphanous blue.

Below us the tiny place slumbered in the sunshine; scarcely a sign of life save specks of washer-women on the beach bending over white patches which we knew were linen spread out to dry.

The ebb-tide lapped lazily on the shingle, where the sea changed suddenly from ultramarine to a fringe of feathery white.

A white sail or two flecked the blue of the bay.

A few white wisps of cirrus gleamed above our heads.