Ocky looked up slowly. “You mean Glory.” He leant across the table, tapping with his trembling fingers. “Know why I went to hell?—it sounds weak to say it. I went to hell because I had no woman to hold me back with love. If I could have Glory—-. But she’ll be thinking of marrying. I’ve spoilt her chances enough already.”
“If you could have Glory,” Peter insisted, “and if you were to have, say, five hundred pounds, what would you do then?”
“The truth again?”
“Nothing else would be of any use, would it?”
“If I had five hundred pounds and Glory, I’d move into the country and buy a pub. I’ve lived to be over fifty, I’ve learnt only one bit of knowledge from life.”
“What is it?”
Ocky flushed. “To you I’m ashamed to say it.”
“Never mind. Say it.”
Ocky twirled his mustaches, covering his confusion, “To know good beer when I taste it.”