“We don’t pretend. Lucy went downstairs to prepare the hot cocoa that would be the last hot drink of the season, ruefully spiking the liquid with Nytol, just one tablet dissolved in a little warm water. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. ‘So yours is the rattling tongue, is it, young madam?’ ‘I should say so. Who’s for a rubber of whist?” Ennison made so many mistakes that he was glad to cut out early in the evening. At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as they say in botany, etiolated.
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