One day in London Crammon came to Christian, sat down affectionately
beside him, and said: “I am leaving.”
“Where are you going?” Christian asked in surprise.
“North, to fish salmon,” Crammon replied. “I’ll join you later or you
can join me.”
“But why go at all?”
“Because I’ll go straight to the dogs if I have to see this woman any
longer without possessing her. That’s all.”
Christian looked at Crammon with a flame in his eyes, and checked a
gesture of angry jealousy. Then his face assumed its expression of
friendly mockery again.
So Crammon departed.
Eva Sorel became the undisputed queen of the London season. Her name
was everywhere. The women wore hats à la Eva Sorel, the men cravats in
her favourite colours. She threw into the shade the most sought-after
celebrities of the day--including the Negro bruiser, Jackson. Fame came
to her in full draughts, and gold by the pailfuls.