Island (1962)
“Susila pulled up at a small thatched bungalow like all the others. They climbed the six steps that led up to the veranda and entered a whitewashed living room.
To the left was a wide window with a hammock slung between the two wooden pillars at either side of the projecting bay. “For you,” she said, pointing to the hammock. “You can put your leg up.” And when Will had lowered himself into the net, “What shall we talk about?” she asked as she pulled up a wicker chair and sat down beside him.
“Wh...at about the good, the true and the beautiful? Or maybe,” he grinned, “the ugly, the bad and the even truer.”
“I’d thought,” she said, ignoring his attempt at a witticism, “that we might go on where we left off last time—go on talking about you.”
“That was precisely what I was suggesting—the ugly, the bad and the truer than all official truth.”
“Is this just an exhibition of your conversational style?” she asked. “Or do you really want to talk about yourself?”MoreLess
To the left was a wide window with a hammock slung between the two wooden pillars at either side of the projecting bay. “For you,” she said, pointing to the hammock. “You can put your leg up.” And when Will had lowered himself into the net, “What shall we talk about?” she asked as she pulled up a wicker chair and sat down beside him.
“Wh...at about the good, the true and the beautiful? Or maybe,” he grinned, “the ugly, the bad and the even truer.”
“I’d thought,” she said, ignoring his attempt at a witticism, “that we might go on where we left off last time—go on talking about you.”
“That was precisely what I was suggesting—the ugly, the bad and the truer than all official truth.”
“Is this just an exhibition of your conversational style?” she asked. “Or do you really want to talk about yourself?”MoreLess
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