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'Humani nil a me alienum puto,' he replied.

'What?' I said. 'Latin,' said Rosie. 'I count nothing that is human indifferent to me,' he said. 'How can it be a sin to slip into such a welcoming cunney.' 'It occurs to me,' I said, 'that we have not all introduced ourselves. I am Andrew Scott.'

'Cecily Cardew,' said Cecily. 'Donald Ferguson,' said Donald who by now had succeeded in strapping George the mongoose back into his basket. 'And Ian Ferguson his brother,' said Ian who was still sitting beside the bundled up stranger. 'Montmorency Willowherb,' repeated the exquisite young dissembler. 'Rosalind Murphy,' said Rosie. 'Spinster of this and every other parish.'

'Which parish do you think we're in now,' I asked, since we had now set off again from Bletchley. 'The Northampton line branches off shortly,' said Rosie. 'We shall in fact pass very close to Blisworth but the train does not stop there.' 'Who is left to be introduced?' said Becky. 'You,' I said. 'I'm Becky,' said Becky. 'My sister is of the party also.' 'Is that her under the rugs?' asked Monty. 'No,' said Becky. 'Who else is with us?'

'Your cousin Charlotte. The one who invented that unusual version of Musical Chairs that you told us of some time ago.' 'No, it's not her, although they have certain habits in common.' 'They fuck a lot?' said Rosie. 'They enjoy it,' conceded Becky. 'I know that there was a friend of Hannah's coming with us but I don't know her name.' 'Must be her,' said Donald. 'She's certainly been coming with my brother. Ask her her name, Ian.' Ian bent solicitously over the rug bundle. 'Can you hear me?' he said. 'It's all right.

You can come out. We've left the station but you'd better get dressed as we'll be coming into Northampton soon.' There was a movement under the rugs. A hand appeared, then a head. It was indeed the dark-haired creature that I had spotted on the platform at Euston.

'We've worked out that you must be Hannah's friend,' said Becky.

The unknown woman's eyes widened. 'We've just been introducing ourselves,' Becky went on. 'You probably heard us. We had to keep you hidden at the station since you were a little lacking in clothing.' 'Who's Hannah?' she asked in a low but melodious voice. 'My sister,' said Becky. 'She's in the next compartment.

At least I assume she is,' she added, looking at me questioningly.

'I hope so,' I said. 'But I wasn't able to check in the hurry.'

'I don't know anyone called Hannah,' said the unknown woman. A look of alarm spread over her face. 'Where-where are my clothes?'

'Under your bum,' said Rosie. 'You must have taken them off in a great hurry.' 'Well, it's a short tunnel,' she said. 'I knew there wasn't much time.' She was looking round the compartment with growing alarm. 'I'm sorry, but-but I don't seem to recognise anyone here. This is the Glasgow train?' 'Oh dear,' said Monty. 'No, it stops at Northampton. Are you not coming to Blisworth on the bicycling expedition?' 'No! I am en route to the Scottish Highlands. I didn't know my travelling companions very well but I thought you were they. We were to be met by two Scottish friends in Glasgow. We have this sort of holiday every summer.' 'What sort of holiday?' I asked. 'We all, er, fuck a lot,' she said, blushing most becomingly. 'Oh dear! What shall I do. As soon as I realised what you and your friends were doing,' she said looking at Rosie, 'I simply assumed that I must be in the right party. And when we went into the tunnel at Watford, this gentleman here,' she looked at Ian, 'was so attentive and I was in so much need that I just let him in without more ado. This is awful!' 'It was not awful,' said Ian gallantly.

'It was the most generous, most open-hearted fuck that I have enjoyed in a long time.' She blushed again. 'Thank you,' she said.

'I didn't mean that the fuck was awful. It was wonderful and just what I wanted. It is just the whole situation that is so awful. Whatever shall I do?' 'For the time being, you must come with us,' said Ian. 'We can send a message to your friends in Glasgow as soon as we arrive at Northampton. But now you really must get dressed.' 'All my luggage must be on the Glasgow train. I had a porter put it all aboard in the van,' she said. 'I have nothing except the clothes I'm standing up in.' 'Sitting down on,' corrected Rosie, ever the realist. 'I will hold one of the rugs up so that you can get dressed in some privacy,' said Monty. 'Oh, Father!' she said in a startled voice. 'No,' said Monty. 'You missed all the explanations.' 'I would prefer it if this gentleman here held the rug,' she said. 'We are already acquainted but I still do not know your name.' 'Ian Ferguson,' said Ian. 'Ferguson-Ferguson-Are you any kin of the Fergusons of Fort Augustus?' 'Cousins,' Ian answered. 'Distant cousins, but we meet from time to time. They are at the other end of Loch Ness. How do you know them?' 'It's a long story,' she said. 'Tell us while you get dressed,' said Donald.

Ian held up the rug. I saw a quick tantalising glimpse of white limbs and dark hair as she vanished behind her screen of decency. Ian, his arms stretched out, holding the corners of the rug, had a most appreciative look at her. 'I was lost,' she went on. 'It seems to be a habit,' said Rosie. 'I was on holiday and had gone out on my own to do some sketching, it being a fine day. I was so engrossed in getting the right tones for the heather and the bracken, that I didn't notice that a big, black cloud was looming up from the west. It started to rain. The clouds were right down on the moor and I couldn't see where the path was. I got absolutely soaking wet and struggled around looking for the way back. I must have walked in complete circles but eventually I found a ruined stone hut and I crept inside. I was so exhausted that I curled up in a corner and went to sleep. When I woke up, the storm had passed and the sun was shining brightly again. I was so cold and damp in my wet things that I took them off and spread them out on the heather to dry. Some time later I heard voices and saw two men striding across the moor. I didn't have time to gather up my things so I slipped back inside and hoped that they would pass by.' 'But they had spotted you?' I said.

'They spotted my clothes. I heard them come over and talk among themselves. They were obviously puzzled to find a complete set of women's clothes. “Not a local lassie,” I heard one say. “This dress is of a style all the rage in London. My cousin Catherine was wearing such a thing when she came home last.” I was getting more and more anxious. “I wonder where the puir wee thing is,” said one. 'Well, of course, you can guess what happened next. They decided to have a look in the bothy as they called it. I was crouched in the corner, trying to protect my modesty with nothing but a sketch book. I was terrified but they were most gallant. They suggested that they should bring my clothes in while they waited outside, but the bothy was so dirty that in the end it was decided that they would wait inside while I went out, collected my things and got dressed. 'Of course I discovered later that they had not been able to resist the temptation to have a peek at me, but they were thoroughly gentlemanly. They escorted me back to the hotel I was staying in with my family and later called on me, offering to show me the sights, including the Loch, Ness Monster. We went out in a little boat and there the inevitable happened.' 'You saw the monster,' I said. 'Not that monster,' she said. 'We became very friendly and nearly overturned the boat. It was the beginning of a memorable two weeks. I developed a great taste for the Scottish way of life and particularly for fucking in the open.' I remembered that Deirdre from Ireland was supposed to be with us and that she had challenged me to a ride in the Park. These two would have something in common. 'But, if I may ask a personal question, is it not somewhat prickly among the heather?' I said. 'Yes,' she said. 'But as I have said, they were both perfect gentlemen. They would lie down and I would lift their kilts and impale myself on them, one after the other.' I realised then the function of the kilt. Were I in that position, I would have to lower my trousers and would be in great danger of suffering from a badly scratched bum if I was being ridden by an energetic partner. From what I had seen earlier in the carriage, and from Deirdre's descriptions, both were quite abandoned in their fucking. Yet I felt a familiar stirring as Mr. Pego declared his interest. 'We still don't know your name,' said Becky.