Elaine was about to speak, or so I surmised. 
        The Portuguese milkman washed his wagon while crooning to his horse as they gathered from the gloom into early day as pink dispersed from the hilltops. He looked up to see the gulls hanging over his father's head who pushed from the dormer gesticulating his desire for a horseless wagon. An automobile. 
        The sea, the pacific, the proud, the smalt sea broad carried its messages and ministrations in foam to where tree roots marbled and penetrated falls of flutings worn rugged rivulets and ringlets of prepared rock, matter in umbrage, umber and ochre they were to form the wall of face, to last.