All vastness, the clouds are piled up like giant rocks, and there is a 'brool' over the sea that sounds like some passage of doom.

Dark figures are on the beach here and there, sometimes half shrouded in the mist, and seem 'men like trees walking'.

The fishing boats are racing for home, and rise and dip in the ground swell as they sweep into the harbour, bending to the scuppers.

Here comes old Mr.Swales.
He is making straight for me, and I can see, by the way he lifts his hat, that he wants to talk.
I have been quite touched by the change in the poor old man.

When he sat down beside me, he said in a very gentle way, "I want to say something to you, miss." I could see he was not at ease, so I took his poor old wrinkled hand in mine and asked him to speak fully.
So he said, leaving his hand in mine, "I'm afraid, my deary, that I must have shocked you by all the wicked things I've been sayin' about the dead, and such like, for weeks past, but I didn't mean them, and I want ye to remember that when I'm gone.