” “Except,” said Constance, surveying her work with her head on one side, “to keep the matches from the litter. Now lend me your own hand. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. Not afraid of me, either. Sweet sixteen year old Shari, who never once figured out the morning sleep hangovers she suffered monthly. He was not quite sure whether, after all, he had been wise. I’ll be ready in a moment. She leaves town to-morrow. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine.
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