In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth. They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. It was a bogus affair altogether, kept by some blackguard or other of an Englishman.
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