“But why did you never write to me?”
“Why should I? I wanted to do something first—to show you-”
“What rot! Is that friendship? I call that the most selfish thing I've ever known.” No, obviously enough, Bobby could never understand that kind of thing. With him, once a friend always a friend, that is what life is for. With Peter, once an adventure always an adventure—that is what life is for—but as soon as a friend ceases to be an adventure, why then—
But Bobby had not ceased to be an adventure. He was, as he sat there, more of one than he had ever been before.
“What have you been doing all these years?”
“Been in a bookshop.”
“In a bookshop?”
“Yes, selling second-hand books.”
“What else?”
“Oh reading a lot... seeing one or two people... and some music.” Peter was vague; what after all had he been doing?