"I tell you, Macdougan, it was a great war.... Gosh, look at that girl in the garden there.... No, just coming out from under the arbor. Look at that throat ... Isn't she a pippin?"
Fanshaw laughed.
"You're incorrigible, Baldwin."
"That's why I don't want to go home.... I'm afraid that if I go home they'll correct me."
"I don't know ... They say things are very gay in the States ... Flappers and all that."
"What's this about flappers?" came a cracked voice behind them. The voice broke into a wheezy laugh. "So this is how the publicity department does its work, is it?"
"Just about," said Fanshaw, turning round to face a small greyfaced man with shaggy eyebrows. "Are you shutting up shop, Petrie?"
"Yes, it's four minutes after five ... Look, does either of you men want to sail home from Palermo on the Canada next week?"
"Heavens, no, I'm staying on till they drive me away," shouted the Major.
"I'd like to go," Fanshaw said quietly. "I've been away two years. It's time I went to see what the university has to say about my job."