The horizon is lost in a grey mist. Everything looks so big; the clouds are piled up like giant rocks, and the thunder over the sea seems like a warning that something terrible is coming. There's mist on the beach that seems to wrap itself about the people walking around there. The fishing-boats are racing for home ahead of the coming storm. They hurry into the harbour, going up and down on the waves and leaning far over to one side because of the wind.

I was glad when the coastguard came along, with his telescope under his arm. He always stops to talk with me, but this time he kept looking at a strange ship out on the sea.

'I can't understand what she's doing,' he said. 'She looks like s a Russian ship, but she's moving about in the strangest way. She can't make up her mind. She seems to see the storm coming, but can't decide whether to run up north in the open sea, or to come into the harbour here.'