In thus departing at once the man showed characteristic tact. Her
recital left nothing to be said. They kissed again, rather like
comrades. Christine was still the vessel of the heavy sorrow of the
world, but in the kiss and in their glances was an implication that
the effective, triumphant antidote to sorrow might be found in a
mutual trust. He opened the door. The Italian woman, yawning and with
her hand open, was tenaciously waiting.
Alone, carefully refolding the kimono in its original creases,
Christine wondered what the man's name was. She felt that the
mysterious future might soon disclose a germ of happiness.
Chapter 6
THE ALBANY
G.J. Hoape--He was usually addressed as "G.J." by his friends, and
always referred to as "G.J." by both friends and acquaintances--woke
up finally in the bedroom of his flat with the thought:
"To-day I shall see her."
He inhabited one of the three flats at the extreme northern end of the
Albany, Piccadilly, W.I. The flat was strangely planned. Its shape
as a whole was that of a cube. Imagine the cube to be divided
perpendicularly into two very unequal parts. The larger part,
occupying nearly two-thirds of the entire cubic space, was the
drawing-room, a noble chamber, large and lofty.
Pages:
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37