'You don't mind walking?'

'You don't mind walking?' he asks, as they descend the stairs to the lobby.
'No, not at all.'
'There is a shuttle bus in...'He glances at a chunky stainless steel watch.?About ten minutes.'
'No, I like to walk,' she says. 'It's the only exercise I get'
'Me too. I always walk on campus unless its raining.'
It isn't raining outside, but looks as if it might soon. A damp wind is blowing across the campus under scudding grey clouds. They walk along the path that skirts the lake, moving into single file every now and again as a tinkling bell warms them of the approach of a cyclist. It being a Wednesday afternoon, there is evidence of sporting activity. Shouts and cries carry faintly from the playing fields on the eastern perimeter, and a rugby ball rises and falls in a spinning arc against the sky. On the lake, some students in wetsuits are windsurfing. The brightly coloured shards of their sails against the dark water make a pleasant picture, but the lake is hardly big enough for the purpose: no sooner have the craft got up some speed than they have to make quick turns to avoid hitting the bank, or each other. Capsizes are frequent.
' I know what this place reminds me of,' Helen says suddenly. ? Gladeworld. Have you ever been?
'N0, what is it.?'
'A sort of up-market holiday village. I went with my sister's family last summer. It was in a biggish bit of wooded country, surrounded by a wire fence. You live in little houses built between the trees. In the middle there's a huge plastic dome with a kind of swimming pool cum botanical gardens underneath it with a lots of water chutes and whirlpools and suchlike. And there's a supermarket and restaurants and sports halls - and an artificial lake for sailing and windsurfing that isn't quite big enough. That's what reminded me. That and the bicycles. You're not allowed to drive your car at Gladeworld once you've unloaded it. Everybody rents bicycles, or walks. Everything you need for your holiday is inside the fence. You never need to go outside.'
From the book ?thinks', by David Lodge