He had something across his knees. The girl in the forward chair raised herself a little, the better to see the gorgeous blue palanquin of the dimly visible bride. The settlement was on the middle west coast. After all, why need one look down. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. The stores, the drying bins, McClintock's bungalows and the native huts sprawled around an exquisite landlocked lagoon.
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