Beyond the dyke lay the empty grey sea, with Texel or Vlieland a faint dark line on the horizon.

Nothing in the town suggested the twentieth century, or indeed any century.

Time was not.
I wish that Mr.Bos had been living, that I might have called upon him and seen his pictures, as M.Havard did.

But he is no more, and I found no one to tell me of the fate of his collection.

Possibly it is still to be seen: certainly other visitors to Harlingen should be more energetic than I was, and make sure.