Only the night before, in the dining room of the Hong-Kong Hotel, she had watched him empty glass after glass of whisky, and shudder and shudder. The doleful procession at once assumed a festive character. He cherished her. She was now permitted freely to study the face. ‘You do not know how I am like my mother. She had Cathy’s predisposition to overweight and her hips were solid and thick under her jeans. Lucy loved orchestras, the bittersweet tinge of rosin dust that hung in the air, the way that the sun shone through filthy windows illuminating the marimbas with a storybook light. “Sufficient unto me is the change thereof,” he said, with all the effect of an epigram. That is why you came here, isn’t it?’ ‘Alors, now we know who is the spy, Monsieur Gérard. In Old Palace Yard everybody ran. And for me there is only one treasure-house. She could not help devouring him a little with her eyes across the Burger King booth, handsome shoulders visibly solid underneath his ridiculous polo shirt, his eyes all sweetness and light. . What lends a tragic mockery to all these tender traps of hers was that she was within lawful bounds.
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