He slackened his pace as he reached the flat. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. The bus however was full. Why do you think I’m indulging in all this very un-English love talk?’ ‘But you are idiot, Gérard.
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