" "Where—where?" cried Thames. She addresses you as the Flower of the Lotus, as the Resplendent Moonbeam. She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. She chuckled. "Who, then?" demanded Jack. ” They loitered under trees, they sat on mossy banks they gossiped on friendly benches, they came back to lunch at the “Star and Garter,” and talked their afternoon away in the garden that looks out upon the crescent of the river. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. It would hurt no one.
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