‘Yes, but quite my own fault. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy. A little inn flying a Swiss flag nestles under a great rock, and there they put aside their knapsacks and lunched and rested in the mid-day shadow of the gorge and the scent of resin. ‘And you know, my dear, I do think you must make up your mind to beard this wretched grandfather of yours. These are the decrees of the Island of Bermuda, and I will never suffer its excellent laws to be violated. I'll write out certain rules of conduct, and then you'll never be in doubt.
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