I did not reply, but he took no notice.
“Damn!” he ejaculated. “What did I let her go for!”
We walked along in silence—his excitement abated somewhat.
“It’s the way she swings her body—an’ the curves as she stands. It’s when you look at her—you feel—you know.”
I suppose I knew, but it was unnecessary to say so.
“You know—if ever I dream in the night—of women—you know—it’s always Meg; she seems to look so soft, and to curve her body——”
Gradually his feet began to drag. When we came to the place where the colliery railway crossed the road, he stumbled, and pitched forward, only just recovering himself. I took hold of his arm.
“Good Lord, Cyril, am I drunk?” he said.
“Not quite,” said I.
“No,” he muttered, “couldn’t be.”