like a marine ostrich. The beach was a desert of heaps of sea and

stones tumbling wildly about, and the sea did what it liked, and

what it liked was destruction. It thundered at the town, and

thundered at the cliffs, and brought the coast down, madly. The

air among the houses was of so strong a piscatory flavour that one

might have supposed sick fish went up to be dipped in it, as sick

people went down to be dipped into the sea. A little fishing was

done in the port, and a quantity of strolling about by night, and

looking seaward: particularly at those times when the tide made,

and was near flood. Small tradesmen, who did no business

whatever, sometimes unaccountably realised large fortunes, and it

was remarkable that nobody in the neighbourhood could endure a

lamplighter.

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

As the day declined into the afternoon, and the air, which had

been at intervals clear enough to allow the French coast to be

seen, became again charged with mist and vapour, Mr. Lorry’s

thoughts seemed to cloud too. When it was dark, and he sat before

the coffee-room fire, awaiting his dinner as he had awaited his

breakfast, his mind was busily digging, digging, digging, in the live

red coals.

A bottle of good claret after dinner does a digger in the red

coals no harm, otherwise than as it has a tendency to throw him