” Sir John stamped his letters, brushed his hat, and carefully gave his moustache an upward curl before the looking-glass. Denis, did you say? I hope that no one of our friends has met with an accident. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. ‘Did you sigh and flutter your eyelashes?’ ‘Certainly I did. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. One little minute with soap and water, voilà tout. 95 The officer showed her into the sleepy suburban police station, a hub of inactivity on Sunday night except for herself and a slightly drunk woman who had been brought in for DUI. The life with which he had endued these sheets of paper began to beckon imperiously.
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