Doralice looked out at the sea searching for Hans' boat. She did not love the sea with its constant drowsy glitter. It was always there, one could see it from everywhere, one could hear it everywhere, everyone spoke of it: the monosyllabic fishermen, when they spoke, spoke of the sea, her uncommunicative husband, when he spoke, spoke of the sea. For her, though, the sea seemed to exhale a boundless, oppressive loneliness.
-Eduard von Keyserling
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