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THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL 231
floated between water and air—in absolute calm, devoid
of all sensation.
He let the waves carry him to the shore, the shallow,
sandy shore, where it formed a lumber-room between the
rocks for the sea’s collection of all things it could not
devour ; here they lay, sorted, washed and polished ;
broken oars, a legion of corks, bark, reed-pipes, staves
and hoops. He sat down and stared at a broken plank.
They had been shut up in the house for a week, for it
was raining. He had established himself in the window-
seat, for one of the panes was all colours with age and
sunlight, and when he looked through it at the grey,
cloud-covered expanse of water, the sun seemed to be shin-
ing ; the grey reefs, where the seagulls nested, looked red,
the air was flooded with gold, the trees were of a brilliant
emerald green ; and if he looked through the window-
pane at a certain angle he could see a rainbow in the
sky, and that kindled in him the hope of fine weather.
Far away, out in the sea, there was a small island, an
island which looked less profaned than the other islands ;
the Scotch firs grew more closely together ; the cliffs were
greener and the shore was covered with reeds. His soul
yearned for it, for from there he could see the open sea.
And the sun shone again. He set sail and steered for
the little island. The boat danced over the rolling waves,
the channel broadened ; far away the green island called
him ; it swam nearer steadily, until at last the boat was
moored among the whispering reeds and he landed.
His dream had been realised ; he was alone among the
trees and reefs, with the sea before him and the infinite
blue sky above his head. No sound betrayed the dis-
turbing vicinity of a human being, no sail on the horizon,
no cottage on the shore. A solitary oyster-plover flew
away from him, terrified, uttering its impotent : help !
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