Short of Infinite

Something, somewhere, ought to be written about the best of the travelling companions. It was one of these who pointed out to me, in the midst of a morning walk along the white-pebbled beach at √Čtretat that the most stunning thing about the small round stones of which the beach was composed in its entirety, from one end to another, was that, however innumerable, their number was nonetheless substantially short of infinite.

Everything, in its moment, numbered and accounted for.