'Of course French children are allowed to sit up far too late. Ten o'clock sometimes before they go to bed, and they go through every course on the menu instead of just having milk and biscuits as children should.'
'They seem to look quite healthy on it', said Hilary, laughing.
Miss Hetherington shook her head and uttered a cluck of disapproval.
'They'll pay for it later', she said with grim foreboding. 'Their parents even let them drink WINE.'
Horror could go no further.
Chapter 6 - 103.p.
I was a glorious, sunlit afternoon, with the sun just sinking to rest. The clear air and golden light – it was all as she pictured it. She had arrived! She had left the fog, the cold, the darkness of London; she had left behind her misery and indecision and suffering. Here there was pulsating life and colour and sunshine.
Chapter 3 / II. - 43.p.
How alike, Hilary thought to herself, all airports were! They had a strange anonymity about them. They were all at some distance from the town or city the served, and in consequence you had a queer, stateless feeling of existing nowhere. You could fly from London to Madrid, to Rome, to Istanbul, to Cairo, to anywhere you liked, and if your journey was a through one by air, you would never have the faintest idea of what any of these cities looked like! If you caught a glimpse of them from the air, they were only a kind of glorified map, something built with a child's box of bricks.
121. oldal, Chapter 8