felt calmed by the view of the sea, which lay peaceful and lovely in the
murkiness. For old habit's sake I would please myself by reading through
the bit I had just written, and which seemed to my suffering head the best
thing I had ever done.

I took my manuscript out of my pocket to try and decipher it, held it
close up to my eyes, and ran through it, one line after the other. At last
I got tired, and put the papers back in my pocket. Everything was still.
The sea stretched away in pearly blueness, and little birds flitted
noiselessly by me from place to place.

A policeman patrols in the distance; otherwise there is not a soul
visible, and the whole harbour is hushed in quiet.

I count my belongings once more--half a penknife, a bunch of keys, but not
a farthing. Suddenly I dive into my pocket and take the papers out again.
It was a mechanical movement, an unconscious nervous twitch. I selected a
white unwritten page, and--God knows where I got the notion from--but I
made a cornet, closed it carefully, so that it looked as if it were filled
with something, and threw it far out on to the pavement. The breeze blew
it onward a little, and then it lay still.

By this time hunger had begun to assail me in earnest. I sat and looked at
the white paper cornet, which seemed as if it might be bursting with
shining silver pieces, and incited myself to believe that it really did
contain something. I sat and coaxed myself quite audibly to guess the sum;
if I guessed aright, it was to be mine.

I imagined the tiny, pretty penny bits at the bottom and the thick fluted
shillings on top--a whole paper cornet full of money! I sat and gazed at