He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. Sir John hesitated, and then continued. “That’s it,” she said. She dived at once behind the cover of the lamproom and affected serious trouble with her shoe-lace until he was out of the station, and then she followed slowly and with extreme discretion until the bifurcation of the Avenue from the field way insured her escape. “Sure, but it’s not like you’re married, you know. My last foster father in Alabama before the Becks was a heavy drug abuser. She still kicked herself for it. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. She was looking about her, and her face was dark with anger. He filled her glass with champagne.
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