He was conscious of a quickening of his heartbeat and the familiar rise of adrenalin that sent his senses soaring in anticipation. It is better as it is. Within forty-eight hours the girl would be on her way east and the boy see-sawing the South China Sea, for ever moving at absolute angles. The light was poor, so that she saw their gleaming faces dimly and indistinctly. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed no developing. It’s an instinct.
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