Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. Opposite to her was a sallow-visaged young man, whose small tie seemed like a smudge of obtusively shiny black across the front of a high close-drawn collar. In a side-glance—for the floor was variously encumbered with overturned objects—he saw one of his paper weights, a coloured glass ball such as McClintock used in trade. The evenings were dulcet and soft. She wanted to scream, but there was no one to scream for. It had neither succumbed to her nor wrathfully overwhelmed her. So he liked to go by a different train.
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