On the shoulder of a hill which rose behind the sparkling sea, the straggling little Japanese village seemed quite deserted and abandoned. A stranger gazing at it might have thought that every one had gone to the war, never to return. Not a thing moved, nothing. The miniature European hotel, standing somewhat aristocratically in a broad courtyard, yet quite surrounded by its humbler neighbours, was entirely shrouded in heavy bamboo blinds, as if stunned and shocked by this voluptuousness of summer. It seemed to be hiding more closely than the native houses, until evening had come and the passion of the day had spent itself, because it was an alien, a foreigner, an intruder. Not a soul was moving, nobody. There was only the slowly heaving sea and the twisting coast-line and the blazing sun.
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