It was the blouse that gave Lucy away. Almost had Martha won out. Why? If she had put the query to herself, she could not have answered it. “So I see that you have become content with your hardscrabble existence, your week-to-week survival, your Martin Chen!” “Who?” “Your limp-wristed lover!” “Um. "You have both," replied Wood, fervently. ‘But do you not see that he will come again? I think it is better if you, both of you, go and leave me here to find—’ She broke off, looking away. But you must not imagine me wrapped in melancholy. Wood's charms equalled your description. Happy Birthday, then. Operations then commenced. There will be long stretches of idleness, heat, and enervation; and always the odour of drying coconut. Enough's as good as a feast of the dainties you provide.
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