"No, head too big." Lighting a cigar, he took a puff and then made a wry face. Putting the offending weed into the empty cup, he said, with another grimace: "Tastes like punk."
"You drank a lot," she said unconcernedly.
He nodded.
"Yes—we'll have to cut out these parties. I can't do those things any more. I'm not as young as I was, and in the morning it makes me sick." Looking up at her, he added. "How do you feel?"
She rose from the breakfast table and sat down at a small escritoire.
"A little tired, that's all," she said languidly.
"You didn't touch anything, did you?"
"No."
"That's right—you've been taking too much lately. It was a great old party, though, wasn't it?"
Laura yawned and gazed listlessly out of the window.