Where else could she go?’ ‘And there aren’t too many of them around,’ agreed Hilary on a gloomy note. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. This done, he let himself carefully down by it, and having only a few feet to drop, alighted in safety. Her mouth lolled open and drool seeped down one corner. "When a man reaches the lowest scale through drink, we call him a beachcomber. ‘What happened, ma’am?’ enquired Gerald gently.
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