"Oh. Did she happen to glance at you that way?" he inquired. I wanted to beat him.
All I said was:
"She's certainly some kitten." Which bottled that young man for a while.
We lay on the bank of the tiny lake, our backs against a huge pine-tree, watching the last traces of colour fading from peak and tree-top.
"Isn't it queer," I said, "that not a trout has splashed? It can't be that there are no fish in the lake."
"There are such lakes."
"Yes, very deep ones. I wonder how deep this is."
"We'll be out at sunrise with our reel of piano wire and take soundings," he said. "The heavy artillery won't wake until they're ready to be loaded with flap-jacks."
I shuddered:
"They're fearsome creatures, Brown. Somehow, that resolute and bony one has inspired me with a terror unutterable."