Think of England

When he looked up from the book again, da Silva was leaning against the bookshelves, watching him.

“I, er,” said Curtis, with the natural awkwardness of an Englishman caught reading poetry. “I just, er, picked this up.” He wondered how long the other man had been there, and how he moved so silently.

“That’s what it’s for,” da Silva agreed. “I shan’t embarrass you by asking for an opinion.”