"Whit noo, hen?" he asked.
"Doh navva turn in dreckly," she said. She spoke Cornish, he Scots; neither understood a word the other said.
They gazed into each other's eyes.
"I have Cornish lust for you," she said, smiling lasciviously. He understood that.
The top resisted at first, then gave way, allowing him to gaze lovingly down. He was immediately reminded of strawberries and cream.
"The stuff of dreams," he said.