"Something far away—away from people."
"By George, that's immense," continued De Gollyer exploding with delight, and, on a higher octave, he repeated: "Immense! Morocco and a smashing dash into Africa for big game. The old trip just as we planned it seven years ago. IMMENSE!"
"I don't care—anywhere."
De Gollyer went nimbly to the bookcase and bore back an atlas.
"My boy—the best thing in the world. Set you right up—terrific air, smashing scenery, ripping sport, caravans and all that sort of thing. Fine idea, very fine. Never could forgive you breaking up that trip, you know. There." Rapidly he skimmed through the atlas, mumbling, "M-M-M—Morocco."
Lightbody, irritated at the idea of facing a decision, moved uneasily, saying, "Anywhere, anywhere."
"Back into harness again—the old camping days—immense."
"I must get away."
"There you are," said De Gollyer at length. With a deft movement he slipped the atlas in front of his friend, saying, "Morocco, devilish smart air, smashing colors, blues and reds."
"Yes, yes."