Explore "A Monk of Cruta" by E. Phillips Oppenheim on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The little group of fishing smacks, homely-looking and uncleanly, on close examination, presented a very different appearance from the deck of the English yacht fast nearing the harbour. Their brown sails had gleamed purple in the dying sunlight, and their rude outline seemed graceful and shapely as they rose and fell on the long waves. Paul, who stood on the captain's bridge of his yacht, uttered a little cry of admiration as they sailed out from the shadows of the huge rock, and fell into a rude semicircle across the bay.
"What colouring one sees in these southern waters! " he remarked. "Did you notice the glinting light on those sails?"