Camilla was now at the blackboard, with an assortment of coloured chalks between her fingers, drawing a picture. In her free hand she held a copy of Our Exploits and she consulted it as she spoke and drew as if it were an instruction manual. ‘You will remember,’ she told us, ‘that the reason the boys play with the water in the first place is because they want to turn it out of their way so that they can get to that delightful recess in the crystallized stone work of the cave which is shaped like the apse of a Gothic church.’ We watched as Camilla carefully drew the apse of a Gothic church. ‘It is Steve, the headstrong one, who almost pays for his impetuosity with his life, who is most delighted by this beautiful glistening niche. “How tantalizing!” he says. “If it were not for this trickling riband of water, we could get over and climb into that arched nook, and sit there like kings on a crystal throne!” And what is it that Leonard says in reply? “Perhaps it would not look so wonderful if we got close to it.” The soul of Thomas Hardy is distilled into that line – that is all you need to know to understand the bitter dejection of his wives.’ Camilla’s chalk squeaked on the blackboard. Pink dust flew like sparks from under her fingers. ‘Because what is that niche that Leonard fears to approach, that beckons so alluringly to one and threatens so much anti-climax to the other, and is finally blown up with dynamite and sealed for ever? What is it that is described as having the colour of flesh, ornamentations resembling the skin of geese after plucking, or the wattles of turkeys’ – on to the board went the wattles of turkeys – ‘and is decorated withal with water crystals – what is it if it isn’t this?’

Camilla stayed where she was for another half minute, engrossed in the minutiae of art, then, with a theatrical flourish, she tossed the chalks into their tin and strode from the blackboard, allowing us all to admire the giant yawning vulva which she had sketched with such faithful attention to texture and tincture from its early origins as the apse of a mediaeval church. Our Exploits at West Poley she tossed to me, high over the heads of the intervening women. It landed open on my desk. ‘I think you’ll agree that I’ve stuck closely to the text,’ she said.