"That," she said, "is a church."
"You amaze me. I thought it was a swimming-bath."
She bit the lip that wanted to smile.
"To return to you, who are my mutton, I wish this road wasn't so narrow. I can't look at you except in the screen."
"We first met in a looking-glass."
"True. But now I want something more—more tangible."
"Indeed?"
I glanced down. "At any rate, I've got your feet, bless them. I shall compose a sonnet to them, beautiful doll."
"And I'll write an epic about yours."
Five minutes passed. "How's the epic going?" said I.