How interesting,’ said Copper; managing with considerable difficulty to turn a yawn into a bright social smile and wishing that Mr Shilto would not talk so much. She wanted to give all her attention to the queer, wild, fascinating country that was flicking past them as the big car whirled along the winding thirty-mile road to Mount Harriet, but there had been no stopping Mr Shilto … Valerie was sitting beside Charles, who was driving, and Copper and Mr Shilto had been packed into the back of the car among a large assortment of bottles containing gin, beer, cider, gingerbeer, orange squash, soda water, and yet more beer. The bottles clicked and clinked against each other as the car swung to the sharp bends in the road and John Shilto tried to find a more comfortable position for his feet. He was a fat man who, had it not been for his height, would have appeared gross, and in spite of the burning suns of many years in the Islands his face had the unpleasantly pasty appearance of some plant that has grown in the dark.
