Evening is kind
to Sussex, for Sussex is no longer young, and she is grateful for the
veil of evening as an elderly woman is glad when a shade is drawn
over a lamp, and only the outline of her face remains. The outline of
Sussex is still very fine. The cliffs stand out to sea, one behind
another. All Eastbourne, all Bexhill, all St. Leonards, their parades and their
lodging houses, their bead shops and their sweet shop and their
placards and their invalids and chars-รก-bancs, are all obliterated. What
remains is what there was when William came over from France ten
centuries ago: a line of cliffs running out to sea. Also the fields are
redeemed. The freckle of red villas on the coast is washed over by a thin
lucid lake of brown air, in which they and their redness are drowned. It
was still too early for lamps; and too early for stars.
EVENING OVER
SUSSEX: REFLECTIONS IN A MOTOR CAR
(E6 453)
(E6 453)
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