The clouds were drifting above him silently and silently the seatangle was drifting below him; and the grey warm air was still: and a new wild life was singing in his veins.
He was alone. He was unheeded, happy and near to the wild heart of life. He was along and young and wilful and wild hearted, alone amid a waste of wild air and brackish waters and the sea harvest of shells and tangle and veiled grey sunlight and gayclad light clad figures of children and girls and voices childish and girlish in the air. (p143)
He felt above him the vast indifferent dome and the calm processes of the heavenly bodies: and the earth beneath him, the earth that had borne him and then him to her breast. (p144)
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