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Rye poked up from its flat skirt of marshes, and beyond, the sea formed a broad, glittering swath under the wide blue bowl of the sky. On the left, the terrace ended in a thick wall of pine trees that separated the house from its nearest neighbor, but to the right it extended further, beckoning Beatrice along the flank of flower and kitchen gardens to a door in a hedge and old woodland beyond.
    Agatha Kent was dozing on the folds of a white cotton robe, on an intensely blue bench, perched on a smooth green lawn—entirely naked. If Beatrice had processed her pinkness as flesh a moment earlier, if she had only registered the rolling expanse of skin instead of the blue paint of the bench, she might have withdrawn before Mrs. Kent’s eyes snapped open. Instead she froze. She was aware of Mrs. Kent, a plump woman, flailing like a landed fish as she tried to collect her limbs, and then the edges of her robe, and attempt an awkward draping of her ample form. Beatrice felt her face flush hot as she cast her eyes around for some other place to focus. The lawn turned blurry under her stare.
    “I am so sorry,” she managed. “So very sorry.” The vast pink landscape still danced before her eyes.
    “You weren’t to know…” said Agatha, puffing out her cheeks as she sought to breathe and tie ribbons at the same time. “Everyone knows not to disturb me.”
    “So sorry,” repeated Beatrice, wondering if she should pick up her bag and head for the station now. “I didn’t mean to spy.”
    “I always meant to put a lock on that gate,” said Agatha. “Only it looks so funny in a garden and—”
    “I’m always up too early,” said Beatrice. “I don’t sleep very deeply.”
    “I was bathing in the sun,” said Agatha, her breath slowing and her voice assuming a more authoritative air. “It is prescribed as a vital part of my exercise program.”
    “Of course.”
    “You should try it yourself,” said Agatha. “No girl your age should look quite as drawn about the face.”
    “I’m not a girl,” said Beatrice. “And I wouldn’t look so pale if it didn’t rain here all the time.”
    “All the more reason we have to drink in the sun when we can,” said Agatha. “Why don’t you come and give it a try right now?”
    “I shouldn’t intrude.”
    “Oh, don’t worry; we’re not going to cavort like wood nymphs. Just come and sit by me. I’ll turn this way and we can both get a little sun, if not the whole bath.” With this she moved to the far end of the bench and shrugged her gown down from her shoulders, using a hand to keep it drawn above her large bosom. Beatrice moved swiftly to the near end of the bench and sat down. She unbuttoned the collar of her dress and turned its stiff edges down. She rolled up her cuffs to the elbow.
    “You’re going to have to shrug that dress right down to get any benefit,” said Agatha, turning her chin up into the sun and closing her eyes. Beatrice undid more buttons and pulled the dress from her shoulders. The breeze breathed across her collarbones and ruffled the edges of her light chemise. The sun felt like a warm hand on her shoulder. It began to heat the smooth rise of her chest and the fragile skin inside her elbows. She felt her nervous breath slow and relax. As she tipped up her face to the sun, she felt the strangest urge to take off her shoes and walk barefoot on the grass.
    —
    Hugh was pretending to enjoy a quiet breakfast, with one of last week’s London newspapers spread carelessly in front of him, but he was listening for noises in the hall which might mean the ladies coming to breakfast. He was aware of a pleasant sense of anticipation at the chance to see the young schoolteacher again this morning and had already run a few opening conversational gambits through his head. A desire for new conversation and companions his own age sparked his eager mood.
    A rustling in the hall and a murmur of voices caused him to wipe his hands on his napkin and tweak his