But a far greater affliction was in store for her. One day she had thrown all the gifts into the lagoon, and visited the secret nook no more. Poor little one. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. “I never dreamt!” she said. He looked like an animated skeleton that someone had hung a smelly 105 brown beard upon. And she had been doubting since that walk in the Zoological Gardens whether, indeed, he did simply care for her. Sooner or later we’ll certainly do something to clean those prisons you told me about—limewash the underside of life. How are you?” “I’m fine,” she said, unaware of all events except for the voice on the other line. As a matter of fact I have been waiting for you.
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