The Island starts slowly moving back; the reverberations in the boat increase; the engine noise gets louder, and we feel the prison dock being torn from us. We are standing, silent, each at his own porthole, having our last look at what has been our home for ten years. There is a strange optical effect: the Island seems to get bigger as we get further from it. First we see only the little dock, the the rocks and bushes at either side and, finally, the whole expanding coastline, a complete island; a green and picturesque stretch of land in the ocean, the harsh monotony of its internal life totally hidden by its outer physical beauty . . .