Going home across the fields they held each other's hands, like children. "Minky," he said, "I don't like to think of you hanging out of top-storey windows."
"But it's so jolly to feel your body come squirming up after your arms."
"It is. It is. All the same, promise me you won't do it any more."
"Why?"
"Because I'm going to India when I've passed out, and I want to find you alive when I come back. Promise me, Minky."
"I will, if you're really going. But you're the only person I allow to call me Minky, except Mark."
"Am I? I'm glad I'm the only person."
They went on.
"I'm afraid," she said, "my hand is getting very hot and horrid."
He held it tighter. "I don't care how hot and horrid it gets. And I think you might call me Jimmy."