‘Étes-vous Francais?’ Her eyes, he noted, followed from himself to Hilary and back again, but she did not speak. “Stop! Don’t put your face there. Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. As she neared the bottom of the dip in Piccadilly she saw a woman approaching her from the opposite direction—a tall woman who at the first glance seemed altogether beautiful and fine. The fates are never so kind to me. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. “Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. What happened? Did you turn me?” “Yes, my love.
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