’ Relaxing back, Gerald folded his arms. The pistol was lowered slightly. Tell him the truth, Annabel. For the present, he murmured his farewells, and turning, caught Hilary’s eye and walked away, crossing the ballroom to move into the less opulent, and less crowded, saloon next door where servants were dispensing refreshments. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. Constantly sick with the croup or diaper rash. There was a pint of champagne and a quart of mineral water (both taboo) at his elbow. Maggot. There was a long silence between them.
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