"No, there is the smack of Sidmouth, and Dawlish, and Torquay in its perfume," said another, whose passion is for the red cliffs of South Devon.

I'm going to Torquay by that eleven-thirty expressisn't it?' 'Eleven-thirty-five,' Emmeline corrected me coldly.

She blamed herself for his death, because he came to Torquay for her comfort.