Directly after lunch he had taken the motor out, and had whirled along the coast road, past Rottingdean through Newhaven and Seaford, and ten miles farther until the suburbs of Eastbourne had begun.

There he turned, his thoughts still running a mill-race in his head, and retracing his road had by now come back to within a mile of Brighton again.

The sun gilded the smooth channel, the winds were still, the hot midsummer afternoon lay heavy on the land.

Then he stopped the motor and got out, telling Martin to wait there.
He walked over the strip of velvety down grass to the edge of the white cliffs, and there sat down.

The sea below him whispered and crawled, above the sun was the sole tenant of the sky, and east and west the down was empty of passengers.