The banquet was not to be until seven, and it was now still but a little past six.

When they spoke they spoke slowly, lazily, as though nothing much mattered, as though Fate had given them everything they wanted and nothing was left to be desired.

Steve, dreamily slipping a belt through the loops of his best trousers, said: "Tom, when I look at you I'm ashamed of myself.

There you are with a face like a war map and one leg all bunged up, and here am I without a scratch.

I've got a bum wrist, but it doesn't show." And Steve scowled at the offending member.
Tom grinned.