‘I must say,’ said Birkin, ‘I detest the spirit of emulation.’ Hermione was biting a piece of bread, pulling it from between her teeth with her fingers, in a slow, slightly derisive movement. She turned to Birkin.

‘You do hate it, yes,’ she said, intimate and gratified.

‘Detest it,’ he repeated.

‘Yes,’ she murmured, assured and satisfied.

‘But,’ Gerald insisted, ‘you don’t allow one man to take away his neighbour’s living, so why should you allow one nation to take away the living from another nation?’

There was a long slow murmur from Hermione before she broke into speech, saying with a laconic indifference: