It’s a lake among precipices, and there is a little inn where we can stay, and sit and eat our dinner at a pleasant table that looks upon the lake. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. This did not tickle his vanity; on the contrary, it enlivened his terror, which is a phase of fascination. “What the devil are you doing star-gazing here?” Ennison looked at him in surprise. Ann Veronica intervened a little in the novelist discussion with a defence of Esmond and a denial that the Egoist was obscure, and when she spoke every one else stopped talking and listened. " "You hear that," whispered Jack.
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