"If I am keeping you" Harkness said suddenly, some of his shyness for a moment returning.
"Not at all," Maradick answered. "I have nothing urgent this afternoon. I've got the very place for you, I believe."
They had been speaking of places. Maradick had travelled, and together they found some of the smaller places that they both knew and loved—Dragör on the sea beyond Copenhagen, the woods north of Helsingfors, the beaches of Ischia, the enchantment of Girgente with the white goats moving over carpets of flowers through the ruined temples, the silence and mystery of Mull. He knew America too—the places that foreigners never knew; the teeth-shaped mountains at Las Cruces, the lovely curve of Tacoma, the little humped-up hill of Syracuse, the purple horizons beyond Nashville, the lone lake shore of Marquette
"And then in this country there is Treliss," he said softly, staring in front of him,
"Treliss?" Harkness repeated after him, liking the name.
"Yes. In North Cornwall. A beautiful place."
He paused—sighed.
"I was there more than ten years ago. I shall never go back."
"Why not?"
"I liked it too well. I daresay they've spoiled
