The cushion was enormous.
Barnaby could have perched on it with three substantial sandwiches and still found room to regret his career.
Felix stood beside the protected communications station, looking pleased with the arrangement.
“Ground reports here. Good sight of the reference board. Nothing moves above you.”
“Nothing except my opinion of this cushion.”
“Too small?”
“Have you ever perched professionally?”
Felix examined the cushion as though it might explain itself.
