Hauman blushed, but one couldn’t have said whether it was because of the extravagant compliment or the word “damn.” “Well,” he said uncomfortably, “I guess it depends on how you feel about these things, ma’am. I mean I’ve been there. And those fellows— Well, I don’t know how to explain it, but I guess that’s where I belong.”

“Did you enjoy it as much as all that?”

“Enjoy it? I don’t know, ma’am, I never thought of it that way. But I know one thing! I sure miss it, and the fellows . . .”

VII

VII

As the sun rose higher in the sky and the day grew hotter, conversation diminished. The distance shimmered and danced in the heat waves that rose from the sand. There was an indolence in the air that seemed more sensual than lazy; it acted as a soporific upon them all. The sea pounded not thirty feet away, but unnoticed, forgotten, scarcely part of the scene. People lay about in a kind of unconscious languorous communion, as if the beach were an enormous bed. Some were prone, hugging the sand in luxurious exhaustion; others had fallen into uninhibited attitudes which, paradoxically, they would never have assumed in public had they been fully clothed. Along the hot sand blew the heavy sickish-­sweet odor of sun-­tan oil.

“. . . Those curls of his,” Billie was saying in a whisper, scarcely audible; “I keep telling him he’s got to get a haircut. They do when they’re on duty; it’s a strict rule. But you know what? I think he really likes them. He doesn’t want to have them cut off. Isn’t it the limit? I know that’s it, but he won’t admit it . . .”