B M Bower

The Lookout Man B M Bower

From the obscurity of vast, unquiet distance the surf came booming in with the heavy impetus of high tide, flinging long streamers of kelp and bits of driftwood over the narrowing stretch of sand where garishly costumed bathers had lately shrieked hilariously at their gambols. Before the chill wind that had risen with the turn of the tide the bathers retreated in dripping, shivering groups, to appear later in fluffs and furs and woolen sweaters; still inclined to hilarity, still undeniably loth to leave off their pleasuring at Venice, dedicated to cheap pleasures.