CHAPTER XX
THE SANDSPIT
That was one of the strangest moments in his life. He had never seen anything comparable to this long white street of sand curbed with emerald waves, leading nowhere, lost, useless, desolate, brilliant with a brilliance that hit the heart as well as the eye, flown over by the white gulls.
The sands fizzed to the sea wind, and away to north and south they trembled and waved in the heat; but the curious thing was the fact that, despite their loneliness, one did not feel alone. The place seemed populous, filled with a crowd that for a moment had made itself invisible. Perhaps it was the riot of color and the brilliance of light: the effect remained.
Jude, looking round, seemed preoccupied about something. It was the absence of gulls.
“Last time I was here,” said Jude, “it was all over gulls’ nests, right here in the middle. Now they seem to have gone off to the ends. Wonder what’s come to them?”
“Maybe it’s too early for them.”
“It’s a bit early, but not much: there’s always early breeders. No, they’ve just took their hook—gulls are like that. We’ll have to go and hunt at the ends. You go north and I’ll go south.”
“Well,” said he, “it’s an awfully long way. Suppose we have something to eat first?”
“I don’t mind,” said Jude.