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THE WINDOW 87that. She knew she was an awful coward aboutbulls, she said. She thought she must have beentossed in her perambulator when she was a baby.She didn’t seem to mind what she said or did. Sud-denly now she pitched down on the edge of the cliffand began to sing some song aboutDamn your eyes, damn your eyes.They all had to join in and sing the chorus, and shoutout together:Damn your eyes, damn your eyes.but it would be fatal to let the tide come in and coverup all the good hunting-grounds before they got onto the beach.

'Fatal,’ Paul agreed, springing up, and as theywent slithering down, he kept quoting the guide-bookabout ‘these islands being justly celebrated for theirpark-like prospects and the extent and variety oftheir marine curiosities.' But it would not do alto-gether, this shouting and damning your eyes, Andrewfelt, picking his way down the cliff, this clapping himon the back, and calling him ‘old fellow’ and all that;it would not altogether do. It was the worst of

taking women on walks. Once on the beach theyseparated, he going out on to the Pope’s Nose, takinghis shoes off, and rolling his socks in them and lettingthat couple look after themselves; Nancy waded outto her own rocks and searched her own pools and letthat couple look after themselves. She crouchedlow down and touched the smooth rubber-like seaanemones, who were stuck like lumps of jelly to theside of the rock. Brooding, she changed the poolinto the sea, and made the minnows into sharks andwhales, and cast vast clouds over this tiny world by