‘I ’ad a girl once who was mad serious about golf,’ Willie said reminiscently, not looking up from his task. ‘ ’Bout six months ago. Aileen, her name was. She came from Scotland. Tallish, lovely body, marvellous complexion. Only two things interested ’er. Playing golf and going to bed. Real obsessions they were. Only trouble was, she couldn’t keep ’em separate.’
Tarrant fought a brief inward battle with himself, but curiosity won. ‘How do you mean, she couldn’t keep them separate, Willie?’
‘Just that. You’d be on the fairway, squaring up for a drive, an’ suddenly you could really feel it. She’d be looking at you like she was just about ready to drag you off into the deep rough and eat you. So all right,’ he went on. ‘She’s geared up to eat you, so you’ve got something good lined up. A bit later you’re in bed, clambering about a bit, and then you feel it again. She’s looking at the ceiling, and she’s about a light-year away, thinking about that drive she sliced at the fourth ’ole.’
(Sabre-Tooth, chapter 3)