"That appalling drawing-room at Trenby and almost equally appalling dining-room have got into my system, and I want to blow the germs away." She gesticulated expressively.
"All right, you ridiculous person, take my bicycle then," replied Kitty good-humouredly.

"But what will you do when you have to _live_ in those rooms ?" "Why, I shall alter them completely, of course.

I foresee myself making the Hall 'livable in' throughout the first decade of my married existence!"-- with a small grimace of disgust.
A few minutes later Nan was speeding along the road to Tintagel, the cool air, salt with brine from the incoming tide, tingling against her face.
In less than the stipulated half-hour she had reached the village--that bleak, depressing-looking village, with its miscellany of dull little houses, through which one must pass, as through some dreary gateway, to reach the wild, sea-girt beauty of the coast itself.

Leaving her cycle in charge at a cottage, Nan set out briskly on foot down the steep hill that led to the shore.

She was conscious of an imperative need for movement.