“If I lean forward I can kiss your ankle.”
She laughed.
“Humour must be preserved even if propriety isn’t,” she said; “nevertheless, you may kiss it.”
She felt the long warmth of his lips through her puce-coloured silk stockings. A hot wind suddenly came from the south, stirring the sea to life.
“And now,” she said, “you’d better row back.”
“We were fools to come here,” he said.
“Yes?... Why? Tell me.”
But he sat moodily for a minute without speaking. Then he lit a cigarette, and by the light of his match Katya saw the passion in his eyes.
“You’re a bit of a tiger,” she said.
“And you’re much of an iceberg,” he retorted.