Yes, it was better than London; the soft splashing of waves was better than the laughter of a hundred voices, better than the roar of a thousand wheels, better than the voice of a million concerts ...

Again reverie merged into drowsy absence of thought.

How exquisite the sunshine was!...
It fell upon her dark cheek this time with a sharp sting and bounced off on to her hand--a round black stone dropped from nowhere but with strangely accurate aim.

She sprang up abruptly.

This was getting beyond a joke.
Columbus was still rooting beneath the distant bush.