“I won’t sit down,” I said. “I’m going over to the hotel.”
I was very drunk. I was drunker than I ever remembered having been. At the hotel I went up-stairs. Brett’s door was open. I put my head in the room. Mike was sitting on the bed. He waved a bottle.
“Jake,” he said. “Come in, Jake.”
I went in and sat down. The room was unstable unless I looked at some fixed point.
“Brett, you know. She’s gone off with the bull-fighter chap.”
“No.”
“Yes. She looked for you to say good-bye. They went on the seven o’clock train.”
“Did they?”
“Bad thing to do,” Mike said. “She shouldn’t have done it.”
“No.”