Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. “You were going to answer it?” “Certainly not!” she said deliberately. He could have easily forced it, but preferred a more expeditious mode of reaching the roof which suggested itself to him. He would get her to come to tea with him, usually in a pleasant tea-room over a fruit-shop in Tottenham Court Road, and he would discuss his own point of view and hint at a thousand devotions were she but to command him. And now she was discovering that even Nature was something of a liar, with her mirages and her horizons. She drew his penis out of the strange little vent in his boxer shorts. He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment.
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