“Where are you going to?,” she asked, as he led her into the hall.
“We’ll talk about that later. Get your cloak.”
The girl stopped short and looked at him, her eyes charged with fear.
“I... I must go home,” she stammered.
“Get your cloak,” Gaymer repeated. “I’ll try to find a taxi.”
They drove down Tottenham Court Road without speaking. Gaymer was tired, restless and bored, the girl fascinated and terrified. Once she laid her hand on his wrist and asked with dry lips where he was taking her.
“Home.”
“I didn’t ought to!... I mustn’t,” she cried.
Gaymer put his arm round her thin shoulders and kissed her.
“Don’t you want to?,” he asked.