The Amateur Crime by Anthony Berkeley — Read

At much the same time as Guy Nesbitt was asking his wife for a second cup of coffee, Mr. Priestley was requesting of his pseudo-wife a similar favour. They were breakfasting in the combined coffee-room, restaurant and private sitting-room of the little inn, and they knew now a good many things which they had not known before. They knew, for instance, that the inn was the Black Swan, that it was in the minute village of Sandersworth and that Sandersworth was, roughly, thirty-five miles from Duffley and nearly a hundred from London. They also knew that they thoroughly approved of the minute village of Sandersworth.

It is impossible for two people of opposite sexes to sleep in the same room, however remotely, without experiencing afterwards a rather exciting, if quite innocent feeling of intimacy. It was the first time Mr. Priestley had breakfasted alone with a charmingly pretty girl; it was the first time Laura had breakfasted alone with a strange man of less than twenty-four hours' acquaintance; yet, somehow, the situation seemed perfectly natural to both of them. Considering what had gone before, this is not surprising. For besides the sleeping in the same room, there had been the getting up in the same room, and that had been even more amusing.