Chapter Twenty-ThreeOn the other side of Exmouth, Edgar Rowdey hung up his damp slicker. Water! Anything so copious ought to supply a book idea; but what new could one say? Seventy percent of the earth’s surface. Half to three-fourths of the human body. Essential in all its forms—solid, liquid, gas—to life of every kind. Polar bears and seals. Squid, whales, goldfish. Bacteria and planaria, cephalopods and arthropods. Algae, kelp, lichens, grass, rhododendrons.
The rhododendrons around the post office had hit their splashy peak. Far too splashy for his taste. They reminded him of over-designed ballets, all bright frilly skirts and legs scissoring flamboyantly in the air, till you might as well be watching the Rockettes. He preferred the simplicity of the myrtle that appeared every spring
