That’s really what I want to discuss. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. “I’ll never be happy again! I hate you! But most of all, what you have made me! A flesh-eating demon cannibal, just like you! I should be dead, dead and lying at the bottom of the sea. Gerald watched her perambulations in silence, his heart wrung. I don’t know. But whatever she may have said was lost as Gerald pinned her to the wall, the point of the sword at her throat. I was in the front row, and I fancied she smiled at me. She felt this was the sensible way out of this oddly sinister situation. She walked back to the car. “Why?” He inquired. She would not forgive me. She marvelled at his apparent imperviousness to the heat.
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