“Oh, yes, of course, I’d forgotten,” he said. “Come on, let’s get going, for God’s sake!”
Being used to Lathom, I ignored his irritability. We jolted off.
The taxi had a churchyard smell about it, and I mentioned the fact. Lathom slammed the window down with an impatient grunt. I remarked, foolishly, that he didn’t seem very enthusiastic about the trip. He said:
“Oh, don’t talk so much.”
It seemed to me that the prospect of seeing Harrison again had rather got on his nerves, and I looked forward to an exasperating weekend.
“ Vous l’avez voulu , Georges Dandin,” I reflected, and lit a cigarette resignedly. The narrow road heaved and sank between the dark hedges, but climbed on the whole, wriggling determinedly up and round to the ridge. A dim light or so and a cluster of black roofs announced civilisation, and Lathom roused himself to say: “Manaton—there’s a good view from here by daylight.”
“We shan’t be long now, then, I suppose,” said I.
He did not reply, and I suddenly became aware that I could hear him breathing. Once I had noticed it, I couldn’t seem to shut my ears to the sound. It was like hearing your own heartbeats in the night—when they seem to grow louder and louder, till they fill the silence and keep you from going to sleep. The breaths seemed quite to rasp my ear, they were so heavy and so close.
“Eh!” said Lathom, unexpectedly. “What did you say?”
What had I said? It must have been ages ago, for Manaton was well behind us now, and the car was nosing her broken-winded way steadily