“What at?” said Phyllis.
“The view,” said Bobbie.
“I hate views,” said Phyllis, “don't you, Peter?”
“Let's get on,” said Peter.
“But this isn't like a view they take you to in carriages when you're at the seaside, all sea and sand and bare hills. It's like the 'coloured counties' in one of Mother's poetry books.”
“It's not so dusty,” said Peter; “look at the Aqueduct straddling slap across the valley like a giant centipede, and then the towns sticking their church spires up out of the trees like pens out of an inkstand. I think it's more like
“There could he see the banners
Of twelve fair cities shine.”
“I love it,” said Bobbie; “it's worth the climb.”
“The paperchase is worth the climb,” said Phyllis, “if we don't lose it. Let's get on. It's all down hill now.”
“I said that ten minutes ago,” said Peter.