Yet I could see why at times she’d want to get away from it. I was sure there were advantages to having the upper storey but it was the lower floor which—although in all likelihood equally cramped—had the use of a garden; or, rather, of a strip of concreted back yard, for the house was a mid-terraced one. However, I suppressed comparisons with our own former rectory in Deal and admired it, Moira’s flat, with all the sincerity which I could muster. “If you’re not already at the top of your profession you damned well ought to be.” “Roughly halfway up, I’d say, but getting there.” She looked about her. “It’s deceptive, isn’t it? From the outside you’d never believe there could be all this room.” “No. No, you wouldn’t.” My sincerity took a nose dive. She laughed. “You don’t agree, though, do you?” I faltered. “Am I that hopeless a liar?” “But thank you for trying. And I can see your point. You in your ten-gallon hat! In Kent you’ve evidently more space to swing that lasso.”
