How you hate her! She'll even lock the bathroom door overnight, too, though it's only cold water you want, and sometimes when the night's been bad it seems as if washing helped. And John at breakfast--the children--meals are worst, and sometimes there are friends--ferns don't altogether hide 'em--they guess, too; so out you go along the front, where the waves are grey, and the papers blow, and the glass shelters green and draughty, and the chairs cost tuppence--too much--for there must be preachers along the sands. Ah, that's a nigger--that's a funny man--that's a man with parakeets--poor little creatures! Is there no one here who thinks of God?--just up there, over the pier, with his rod--but no--there's nothing but grey in the sky or if it's blue the white clouds hide him, and the music--it's military music--and what they are fishing for?