He savored the last solo, the coda. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings. Pull yourself together, Annabel! I must have the truth. There were all varieties of bird-life known in these latitudes, from the bird of paradise down to the tiny scarlet-beaked love-birds. As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. “If he is not here now I can make myself safe. “She wasn’t sane, my wife. “And now let us leave the men alone and talk about ourselves.
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