Only the night before, in the dining room of the Hong-Kong Hotel, she had watched him empty glass after glass of whisky, and shudder and shudder. "My demeanour ought to convince you that I came with no hostile intention. Could you come to tea at my rooms one afternoon, or would you dine with me somewhere, and do a theatre? We could have a private room, of course, if you do not wish to be seen about London, and a box at the theatre. As usual, Lucy traced over parts of her experiences in her confidences with Shari, skipping lightly over her own 10 story as a pebble would over a lake. Spurling, as if struck by a sudden idea. She tried not to blush. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. Tell me that you are not sorry to see me again.
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