A curious silence ensued. She arrived about nine o’clock the next evening in a state of tremulous enthusiasm. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. "I likes to hear vot you says. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. “Lucy! You found me! I was just about to sleep some of those rum and Cokes off like the pig I am. ’ He moved to his friend and grasped his hand in a gesture as deliberately dramatic as the storytelling of mademoiselle.
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