This afternoon she made a funny remark.

We were coming home for dinner, and had come to the top of the steps up from the West Pier and stopped to look at the view, as we generally do.

The setting sun, low down in the sky, was just dropping behind Kettleness.

The red light was thrown over on the East Cliff and the old abbey, and seemed to bathe everything in a beautiful rosy glow.

We were silent for a while, and suddenly Lucy murmured as if to herself.