The Channel was kinder now. The crosscurrents and races of this turbulent moat are never still, but the long winter storms were over. The fresh wind still snatched spindrift from the whitecaps in the narrows opposite Dover, as it did beyond in the North Sea, and around Cape Breton in the rough Bay of Biscay. But in the fjords, in the bays and river mouths, the way was smoother. Along the flat sand beaches and the rocky cliffs, around the peninsulas, along the marshes and the dikes the invasion season had begun.
The...
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