’ ‘Well, don’t blame me if you get your head blown off. There was another phrase which sounded something like 'Gin in a blue-serge coat'. There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target. 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. Sheila knew that the Eat & Shop on the corner of 53rd and Oleson was a flimsy front for an all-in-the-family whorehouse. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount. ’ ‘It’s too late for that,’ Gerald told her evenly. ‘Damnation! Too late.
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