“Not like it’s your fault if you wake up one day and decide you hanker for a nice piece of ass, a ten-minute tumble. "Jack!" she cried, raising her head. ‘Do you need an excuse?’ ‘Oh, you know what doctors are. A slow anger burned in the man. Arrived at Westbourne-Green—then nothing more than a common covered with gorse and furzebushes, and boasting only a couple of cottages and an alehouse—he perceived through the hedges the objects of his search slowly ascending the gentle hill that rises from KensallGreen. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. ‘But I have told you. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. I waited for her at the back.
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