I don’t understand a thing.
They were indescribably beautiful, and they seemed to be aware of it. They danced coquettishly, freely and openly, for themselves, for each other, for the island, for the sea – it seemed to be all the same to them.
Well, that really is the last word in madness.
The sky was blue as usual, so this time it couldn’t be the volcano.
He was determined to understand, to solve the mystery of the sea so that he would learn to like it and be able to keep his self-respect.
He thought that for once she was almost pretty.
But one needs a change sometimes. We take everything too much for granted, including each other.
Suddenly the Groke started to sing. Her skirts fluttered as she swayed to and fro, stamping on the sand and doing her best to show him that she was pleased to see him.
What are you going to do him? Hang him, boil him, or stuff him?
I have every respect for your deductions, but you are wrong, completely and absolutely, and without any doubt.
All you hoped was that I shouldn’t tell you about it. You’re awfully good at deceiving yourself!
I only wanted to run along the beach beside them, and laugh with them, they’re so beautiful…