An hour or so passed in jerks; quick lovely spaces of time with the Victrola playing and short horrible periods that dragged on for years, when she relapsed into stupidity and stared at the beaded vest and tried not to talk about life. She saw Tom once in a while, as it were, looking at her and grinning in a monotonous way: she leaned against his shoulder in an unpleasant spell of dizziness, and it was there that Flo found her when she came stamping in with Wally. She heard Flo’s sharp voice.
“Look at that! Did you ever? We’d better get a taxi.” And in the car that crept through the dark streets she sat up suddenly and said, “Well, I seem to have done it instead of you.”
“You did,” said Flo. “Lie down.”
“I’m all right.” She sat up and tried to put off her remorse until next morning. “Where are the boys?”
“I made them stay at the stable. It’s too late for them to come out.”
“What time is it?”
“Three o’clock, I think.”
The house was squat and ominous in the dark; the moon had long since set. Gin crept to bed by the light of the reading-lamp; she felt somehow that the bright light would outrage the hour. Her head felt very light. It wouldn’t next day.
“Flo,” she called across the room, after she had settled down. There was something to talk over with Flo. What was it? Too much trouble....
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! What is it?”