“Will you go down to the river?” he asked.
She looked at him, leaving herself in his hands. He went over the brim of the declivity and began to climb down.
“It is slippery,” he said.
“Never mind,” she replied.
The red clay went down almost sheer. He slid, went from one tuft of grass to the next, hanging on to the bushes, making for a little platform at the foot of a tree. There he waited for her, laughing with excitement. Her shoes were clogged with red earth. It was hard for her. He frowned. At last he caught her hand, and she stood beside him. The cliff rose above them and fell away below. Her colour was up, her eyes flashed. He looked at the big drop below them.