Masterly in all things, this woman was most masterly in her cups.
VII.
Into Mr. Marrapit's dreams there came a whistle.
He pushed at Sleep; she crooned to him and he snuggled against her.
Upon his brain there rapped a harsh Wow!
He wriggled from his bedfellow; she put an arm about him, drew him to her.
Now there succeeded a steady wash of sound—rising, falling, murmuring persistent against his senses.
He turned his back upon Sleep. She crooned; he wriggled from her. Seductively she followed; he kicked a leg and jarred her, threw an arm and hurt her. Disgusted, she slipped from bed and left him, leaving a chilly space where she had warmly lain.
Mr. Marrapit shivered; felt for Sleep; found her gone; with a start sat upright.
The breakwater gone, that wash of sound which had lapped around his senses rushed in upon them. Lingering traces of the touch of Sleep still offered resistance—a droning hum. The wash surged over, poured about him—VOICES!