“Queer chap altogether,” said Ames....
He thought for a time, and then went on to philosophize about Probyn.
“Clever chap he was,” said Ames, “but an absolute failure. Of course old High Cross wasn’t anything very much in the way of a school, but whatever there was to be learnt there he learnt. He was the only one of us who ever got hold of speaking French. I heard him over there—regular fluent. And he’d got a memory like an encyclopædia. I always said he’d do wonders....”
Ames paused. “Sex was his downfall,” said Ames.
“I saw a lot of him altogether, off and on, right up to the time of the war,” said Ames. “My people are furniture people, you know, in Tottenham Court Road, and his were in the public-house fitting line—in Highbury. We went about together. I saw him make three or four good starts, but there was always some trouble. I suppose most of us were a bit—well, keen on sex; most of us young men. But he was ravenous. Even at school. Always on it. Always thinking about it. I could tell you stories of him.... Rum place that old school was, come to think of it. They left us about too much. I don’t know how far you——.... Of course you were about the most innocent thing that ever came to High Cross School,” said Ames.
“Yes,” said Peter. “I suppose I was.”
“Curious how it gnaws at you once it’s set going,” said Ames....
Peter made a noise that might have been assent.
Ames remained thinking for a time, watching the swish and surge of the black Channel waters. Peter pursued their common topic in silence.
“What’s the sense of it?” said Ames, plunging towards philosophy.