"An idea has just occurred to me," said Gay, "which Jack's narrative has suggested. Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. "What does Mr. I have taken bullets and lived, and even a silver one wouldn’t do much. My, um, my curfew. ‘One thing at a time, missie. But how long would she last, withering away to a desiccated pile of skin and bone? Round and round she would go. He embraced her fully. \" He said, as he threw his trash into the can on the way out. She rested for a half hour in heaven on earth, feeling herself drift in and out of sleep.
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