The sun had just set, the sea breeze was rustling and tumbling in the woods and ruffling the grey surface of the anchorage; the tide, too, was far out, and great tracts of sand lay uncovered; the air, after the heat of the day, chilled me through my jacket.
太阳刚刚落下,海风在林间翻涌作响,吹皱了锚地灰色的水面;潮水也已远退,露出大片沙地。白日的暑热过后,空气的凉意透过上衣直沁进来。
— Robert Louis Stevenson · Treasure Island · XIX · Narrative Resumed by Jim Hawkins: The Garrison in the Stockade —