"Let me show you something." Ben pulled on her hand, forcing another rush of desire through her. She followed him into a huge, echoing room. Inside were rows of porcelain urinals. Imogen could imagine them new, as pristine as young soldiers. Now, ferns and mud erupted from each one.

They walked down the row together, hands clasped. Beyond a wall, a regiment of sinks awaited, also overtaken by green growth.

Ben leaned against a half-wall, set the lantern on the floor, and pulled Imogen to him. His arms crushed around her, his hands searching beneath her layers of clothes for her waist, her full hips. His face was hot despite the cold storm-air blowing through the abandoned latrine.

For some minutes they stood, hugging and pressing together, the only sound their gasping breath in each other's ears. Imogen was the first to open her eyes. As she pressed her mouth against Ben's neck, his beard bristled against her forehead.

"Ohhh," he moaned.

She kissed his mouth, still sour and swollen from the liquor. His whiskers rubbed against her lips, stinging them. Imogen slid her tongue between his teeth.