William Bouguereau The Rapture of Psyche

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thought I might sleep on the beach,’ said Victor. ‘It’s warm enough, after all. I think I really could do with a good rest. Good night.’
He tottered off in that direction.
The sun was
It was two hours after, midnight.
It had them now, and poured joyfully out of the hill, poured its glitter into the world.
Holy Wood dreams . . .
It dreams for everyone. setting, and a wind off the sea had cooled things a little. Around the darkening bulk of the hill the lights of Holy Wood were being lit. Holy Wood only relaxed in the darkness. When your raw material is daylight, you don’t waste it. It was pleasant enough on the beach. No-one much went there. The driftwood, cracked and salt-crusted, was no good for building. It was stacked in a long white row on the tide line. Victor pulled together enough to make a fire, and lay back and watched the surf. From the top of the next dune, hidden behind a dry clump of grass, Gaspode the Wonder Dog watched him thoughtfully.