“No, just to you,” she said.
“All right, and then to you.”
I drank.
She put her glass down on the bed-table without touching it. Her eyes were wide and dark.
I looked at her, feeling a chill run down my spine. The liquor grabbed at my stomach.
“I should have thought of that,” I said.
The room revolved slowly, then tilted.
“Killeano’s gift,” I heard myself mumbling. “But not for the bride.”
I was staring up at the ceiling. The lights were going out the way a movie-house dims its lights. I tried to move, but my muscles wouldn’t work. I felt rather than saw Miss Wonderly get out of bed. I wanted to tell her to be careful not to catch cold, but my tongue was like a strip of limp leather.
I heard voices—men’s voices. Shadows moved across the wall. Then I rode down a dark shute into darkness.