. I do not wish to blow off a head, you understand. You say you have twenty-four hundred in your letter of credit. A sob was strangled in her throat. It was enough that she witnessed it and could not go to him. He had his sections of the Siegfried map folded in his pocket, and he squatted up with his legs crossed like an Indian idol while she lay prone beside him and followed every movement of his indicatory finger. Together they crept through the erstwhile drawing room and entered the massive flagged hall. She gazed with a quiet detachment toward the window and the Oxford Street traffic, and in her heart she was busy kicking this man to death. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised.
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