“The pond,” said Bill, wondering why he was reading Coleridge on such a fine afternoon. Desperately he tried to think of a good reason⁠ ⁠… verifying a quotation⁠—an argument with Antony⁠—that would do. But what quotation?

“Oh, no. They’re still at it. Where’s Gillingham?”

The Ancient Mariner ⁠—water, water, everywhere⁠—or was that something else? And where was Gillingham? Water, water everywhere⁠ ⁠…

“Tony? Oh, he’s about somewhere. We’re just going down to the village. They aren’t finding anything at the pond, are they?”

“No. But they like doing it. Something off their minds when they can say they’ve done it.”

Bill, deep in his book, looked up and said “Yes,” and went back to it again. He was just getting to the place.