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I saw that the dead sea-mist had risen out of the lifeless sea and wrapped us while my back had been turned. The pencils of the Light marched staggeringly across tilted floors of white cloud. From the balcony round the light-room the white walls of the lighthouse ran down into swirling, smoking space. The noise of the tide coming in very lazily over the rocks was choked down to a thick drawl. |
This is from the opening passage of The Disturber of Traffic, collected in Many Inventions. The story-teller spends the night in the St. Cecilia lighthouse above the English Channel. Fenwick. Who is in chargeof the light, tells a strange tale of a lighthouse keeper in Eastern seas, who is driven crazy by the streaks in the water as the tides surge incessantly to and fro below him. ‘ |
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