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The opening lines:
Far, far from the bustle of London was this place. The keening cries of seagulls and the constant low roaring lap of the sea. The uncanny-wise faces of the seals in the harbour. The lilting speech of the sailors on the finely-painted 19th-century cargo ship with its empty apple crates that had brought them from the ferry port at the north end of Skye. The unwelcoming faces of the grizzled men who watched as the dinghy pulled up at the little stone quay, as Sherlock Holmes and John Watson first set foot on Summerisle.
(Yes, THAT Summerisle.)
Far, far from the bustle of London was this place. The keening cries of seagulls and the constant low roaring lap of the sea. The uncanny-wise faces of the seals in the harbour. The lilting speech of the sailors on the finely-painted 19th-century cargo ship with its empty apple crates that had brought them from the ferry port at the north end of Skye. The unwelcoming faces of the grizzled men who watched as the dinghy pulled up at the little stone quay, as Sherlock Holmes and John Watson first set foot on Summerisle.
(Yes, THAT Summerisle.)
