E. J. Banfield, My Tropic Isle
“ Sounds which crush and crowd have wearied and retired. The timid and shy venture forth to join the quiet revelry of the night.On its northern aspect the sand spit is the steeper. There the folds of the sea fall in velvety thuds ever so gentle, ever so regular. On the southern slope, where the gradient is easy, the wavelets glide up with heedless hiss and slide back with shuffling whisper, scarce moving the garlands of brown seaweed which a few hours before had been torn from the borders of the coral garden with mischievous recklessness. ”
