Well, the procession moved on, and, as I got under the canopy, berobed, bemitred, besceptered, and bespurred, I caught a glimpse of Miss Fellows, the herb-woman, who, with six devilish handsome girls, were strewing rosemary and tansy on the blue broadcloth from Manchester;

You lead through instead — your companion leads a pitch, then you join him. But instead of swapping over at the ice axe belay, you carry on in the lead, cutting or kicking steps until you are about twenty feet above.

Sepia Delft tiles surrounded the fireplace, their crudely drawn Biblical scenes in faded cyclamen blending with the pinkish pine, while above them, instead of a mantelshelf, there was an archway high enough to form a balcony with slender balusters and a tapestry-hung wall behind.

I returned quietly, creepily, to the tent, first taking another exhaustive look round and—yes, I confess it—making a few measurements.