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"You can get to Bourton-on-the-Hill. I'll show you." She pointed. "You see where that clump of trees is like a battleship, sailing over a green hill. That's about where it is." "Thanks. I've been trying to get there all afternoon." "Where have you come from?" "Stanway. The other side of that ridge." "You should have kept along the top. You've come miles out of your way."
She knew, as if she remembered it, that John had told her to go up and wait for him there; she was keeping watch for him on the tower. Grey mist flowed over the field like water. He was down there in the field. If she went to him he would take her in his arms. She was walking now on the highway to Bourton-on-the-Hill.
Thus: Moreton-in-the-Marsh distinguishes from More-ton-on-Lug. Bourton-on-the-Water distinguishes from Bourton-on-the-Hill. Stow-on-the-Wold distinguishes from Stowe-Nine-Churches. Then we find Shipston-on-Stour and Shipton-under-Whichwood. Hinton-on-the-Green and Hinton-in-the-Hedges. Aston-under-Hill and Aston-under-Edge.
"I like going out of my way. I did it for fun. For the adventure." You could see he was innocent and happy, like a child. She turned and went with him up the field. She wouldn't go to Bourton-on-the-Hill. She would go back to the hotel and see whether there was a wire for her from Gwinnie.... He liked going out of his way. "I suppose," he said, "there's something the other side of that gate."
There isn't anybody there." "Oh." He lingered. "Do you know who he is?" she said. "No. I don't know anything. I don't even know where I am. But I hope it's Bourton-on-the-Hill." "I'm afraid it isn't. It's Stow-on-the-Wold." He laughed and shifted his knapsack to his left shoulder, and held up his chin. His eyes slewed round, raking the horizon. "It's all right," she said.
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