Algy was feeling rather glum. His oldest friends had suffered a sad loss, and they had gone away for a while. The wind felt melancholy too, and blew the mist back in from the sea.
He was reminded of the poem Lassitude by Mathilde Blind, although his own sea was greenish-grey…
A fisher-boy, in level line,
Cast stone by stone into the brine:
Methought I too might do as he,
And cast my sorrows on the sea.