hope-deprived notations

There was a strange atmosphere, a fog, that seemed to sink down on the island early in the morning, and lift late, but not too late, at night. If you got up early enough, you could escape it, for an hour or two, especially if you were facing out to sea, for the hot, featureless fog sank like an inert gas, invisible but choking, across the cheap building…

This post is for paying subscribers