The beach was littered with palm-thatch umbrellas and half-naked, kippering bodies, and the Marina packed with seagoing craft of every description.

[…] the multitude were in no bad humour at being now and then besprinkled with friendly showers of momentary duration […]

One feels that here the old pagan gods have come into their own again, the ones we acknowledge every day of the week without thinking — Tue, Woden, Thor and Freia; and certainly nature herself has reclaimed what was once a site cleared of vegetation.

The bifurcated look had something weirdly haremlike about it and, however liberating, was light only in relation to what had come before.