Downs attract his thoughts, nor yet the sinuous lines of the hills.
From the platform one saw the whole of Southwick. The green with its
cricket match, Mrs. Horlock and her dogs, the forge, the stile, the
various cottages, the long fields full of green wheat, and, far away,
the carriages passing like insects along the road under the Downs;
then on the right were the back gardens of the cottages, a large
inscription announcing the different branches of the grocery business,
a few fields with cows leaning their muzzles over the rough palings,
some more cottages, a barn, and then the magnificent five acres of the
Manor House, rich with glass-houses, and beautiful in a cloud of
trees. From the platform of the station one could see the sea, not
much of it, but one could see the sea; the slates of the street that
went along the water's edge did not quite bar the view. The very small
presence of Southwick contrived to hide the sea; even when one walked
to the water's side the great mass of shingle which forms the outer
bank of the canal allowed only one narrow rim of blue to appear. The
inhabitants forget they live by the sea, and when the breeze fills
their gardens with a smell of boats and nets they think of the sea
with surprise.

Tired of the monotonous running to and fro of the cricket players,
Willy walked up the platform. Arrow-like, the line lay in front of
him, and in the tinted distance, in faint lines and flashes of light
and shade, Brighton stretched from hill to hill. Morning was still in
the sky, and the sea was deep blue between the yellow chimney-pots. A
puff of steam showed up upon a distant field, and the train came along
from Portslade, one of the links of the great chain of towns that
binds the south coast. "I hope Frank won't arrive in Brighton before
me," thought Willy.