“It’s true that nearly every one calls him Doro.”
Once more they heard the chattering voices, and then a sound of laughter in the darkness. It made Hermione smile, but Artois moved uneasily. Just then there came to them from the sea, like a blow, a sudden puff of wind. It hit their faces.
“Do you want to avoid the storm?” Artois said.
“Yes. Do you think—”
“I am sure you can only avoid it by going at once. Look!”
He pointed towards the sea. The blackness before them was cut at some distance off by a long, level line of white.
“What’s that?” asked Hermione, peering out.
“Foam.”
“Foam! But surely it can’t be!”
The wind struck them again. It was like a hot, almost like a sweating hand, coarse and violent, and repugnant.