A couple of hungry crows were busy with a black, inflated object
down there, probably the carcass of a dog. Each time a wave glided
in, they rose and hovered a few feet up in the air with their legs
extended straight down toward their booty, as if held by some
invisible attachment. When the water retreated, they dropped down
and buried their heads in the carrion, but kept their wings spread,
ready to rise before the next advancing wave. This was repeated with
the regularity of clock-work.

A shout came vibrating in from the harbor, and a little while after
the heavy sound of oars working over the edge of a boat. The sound
grew more distant and at last ceased; but then a bell began to
ring--it must have been at the end of the mole--and out of the
distance, into which the beat of the oars had disappeared, came the
answering sound of a horn. They continued to answer one another for
a couple of minutes.

The town was invisible, but now and then the silence there was
broken by the iron tramp of a quarryman upon the stone paving. For
a long time the regular beat of his footsteps could be heard, until
it suddenly ceased as he turned some corner or other. Then a door
was opened, followed by the sound of a loud morning yawn; and
someone began to sweep the pavement. Windows were opened here and
there, out of which floated various sounds to greet the gray day.
A woman's sharp voice was heard scolding, then short, smart slaps
and the crying of a child. A shoemaker began beating leather, and
as he worked fell to singing a hymn--

"But One is worthy of our hymn, O brothers:
The Lamb on Whom the sins of all men lay."