haps, as the women did sometimes from sunstroke when they were raking in the salt.
It was now day dawn; the pale gleam of morning was beginning to show over the dusk of the marshes and mountains far away inland. Another long, dreary, scorching, cloudless day was about to be born on Maremma.
She stepped once more into the boat, and once more retraced her path across the waters.
The gossipers had all gone within to sleep a little; a few early-risen toilers, too aged or ill to be away with the coral fleet, were getting out tackle and nets to go and try for fish close in to shore, or going with their sickles to cut the maritime rush that grew in long lines here and there between the beach and marsh.
No one noticed her, because they were so used to see her out at daybreak by, or on, the sea.
She got away safely, and rowed on along the coast. She was so fatigued that she could barely grasp the oars and move them, and she made slow headway against the inert water. There were fish rising all around her; before going deep down in the heat of
