She stood by my side on the threshold of the cottage and shaded her eyes with her hand, for the glare of the sun was dazzling.
"Well, I never did!" she remarked.

"But I said to John last night that I pitied them at sea.

He's been washed up by the tide, I suppose, and I count there'll be more before the day's out.

A year come next September there was six of 'em, gentlefolk, too, who'd been yachting.

Eh, but it's a cruel thing is the sea." "Where is your husband ?" I asked.
"Up chopping wood in Fernham Spinney," she answered.