“This heat is terrible, Siegmund. Shall we go down to the water?”
They climbed giddily down the cliff path. Already they were somewhat sun-intoxicated. Siegmund chose the hot sand, where no shade was, on which to lie.
“Shall we not go under the rocks?” said Helena.
“Look!” he said, “the sun is beating on the cliffs. It is hotter, more suffocating, there.”
So they lay down in the glare, Helena watching the foam retreat slowly with a cool splash; Siegmund thinking. The naked body of heat was dreadful.
“My arms, Siegmund,” said she. “They feel as if they were dipped in fire.”
Siegmund took them, without a word, and hid them under his coat.
“Are you sure it is not bad for you—your head, Siegmund? Are you sure?”
He laughed stupidly.
“That is all right,” he said. He knew that the sun was burning through him, and doing him harm, but he wanted the intoxication.