here," he said. "I'll get you a sweater, if you're cold."
He brought it from the lamp-room passage and came back to her. He wore a gray jersey himself, and his hair was growing more curly every moment in the dampness.
"Fogger's on duty," he said; "he's always worried when it's thick. And Mudder won't be out, either, till presently. Please bring that thinnest green book on the top shelf, and do hurry, Joan."
Outside the world had changed. The waves at the end of the rock were only a blur of curling foam through the gray, melting suddenly into emptiness. Off the pier Joan could barely see the Ailouros, which rose and fell gently, the halyards slapping the wet mast with a lonely sound. Out of the impenetrable mystery of the fog came whistlings and hootings, impossibly deep growls and shrill screeches.
"It sounds zackly like a lot of great sea-beasts fighting and roaring, doesn't it?" said Garth, as they sat down on the rocks. "But it's just the nice old tugs talking to their barges." He chuckled reminiscently. "Once I said: 'That's a tug talking to her tows,'
