‘No idea,’ said Ignace, sneaking a look down her cleavage. A thin silver chain hung around her neck, whatever was hanging on it, hidden beneath the fabric of her top. ‘My face is up here, Ignace,’ said Euphrati. ‘I know, my dear Euphrati,’ he said, ‘but I’m terribly bored now and this view is much more to my liking.’ ‘Give it up, Ignace, it’s never going to happen.’ He shrugged. ‘I know, but it is a pleasant fiction, my dear, and the sheer impossibility of a quest is no reason to abandon it.’
