Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time. The stags and oxen and things all have to fight for us, everywhere. I feel like a fraudulent trustee. ” He unfolded his serviette with fingers which shook all the time. Gerald watched her perambulations in silence, his heart wrung. “That’s not working so well for you, is it?” She looked at him sheepishly, bringing a Kleenex out of her pocket to wipe away the excess. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars.
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