I think I shall sleep here to-night. There’s nothing the matter with the
Chesterfield, and I can get some rugs from the hall.
And I don’t think I shall go to ‘The Office’ to-morrow. If I do, they’re
bound to act. Whereas, if I hold my hand for another day, S. will have
had his money and cut his own throat. And, instead of a bad ten minutes,
he’ll be broken on the wheel. After all, why shouldn’t he be broken?
Others are.
IV
February 20th, 1929
At half-past nine last night I was sitting in the study with Bugle with
only the fire for light, when I heard the front-door open and someone
come in. Now that Jo’s gone, no one but I has a key, so Bugle and I got
up and went to the door.
It was Jo.
Before I could speak her arms were round my neck.
Her cheek, her lips were red-hot: her breath coming in spurts.
“Sorry I’m late, my darling, but Daphne’s going away and she simply made
me——”
The sentence lost itself in a savage cough.