George felt hot. Whisky burned in his stomach. He was a little light-headed, but uneasy, nervous.
The past hour had been difficult. As the hands of the clock crept forward, all of them showed signs of strain Even Sydney, for all his sneering coldness, began to fidget and look at the clock.
Cora drank steadily. She showed no sign that the whisky was affecting her, except that her face became paler and her eyes brightened.
When, at last, Sydney got to his feet, there was an immediate tightening of the tension. George looked from one to the other.
“Perhaps we ought not to go…” he began, facing them.
They stood side by side, brother and sister, their eyes cold and cautious, oddly alike. They stared at him as if he were a stranger.
“Don’t talk wet,” Sydney said.
“Go on,” Cora said. “We’re coming “
Sydney shrugged and moved to the door. He opened it and began to walk down the stairs.
Cora went to George. "You’re coming hack here tonight,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “I don’t cheat. I meant what I said, only I didn’t think Sydney would be hack so soon.” Her eyes were inviting. Then she added, “I’ll be nice to you tonight—promise.”