“Got him bad, ‘ave you?” said the taxi driver as the third application of Miss Dior in ten minutes fought with the diesel fumes. It was Marion. Her ankles were so slender, he wondered how they could bear the weight of her body, or her long slender neck the weight of that glorious Titian hair. “Mummy likes Fen, because she’s pretty and funny and because she’s so young, but I’m an embarrassment to her and living proof that she’s over forty-five.
How could you do that to her? You’re the most uncaring man I’ve ever met. Then he glanced across the collecting ring and his blood froze, for, picking her way towards him, very pale but unspeakably beautiful, a fur coat hiding any trace of pregnancy, was Helen. She could hardly get inside for the flowers roses, gardenias, stephanotis, banks and banks offreesias and hyacinths. Someone shouted in German.
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