’ He became aware of his friend’s face before him. ‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound. He waited for an instant, wasting an encouraging smile in the imperfect light, and then shut the doors of the van, leaving the women in darkness. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. That is what my mother used to call me. Her mouth at half-cock, Melusine stood there staring at him. Armed, however, with the implement he had so fortunately obtained, he did not despair of success.
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