Who is the other?” “What other?” Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. Nobody ever called me John, that I recollect. She pulled his shirt from its tucked belted state and snaked her hands around his waist. ‘Something for you, Lucy?’ he asked, interrupting a heated argument that had obviously been in progress for some little time before their arrival. At times he was brilliant and masterful, talked round and over every one, and would have been domineering if he had not been extraordinarily kindly; at times he was almost monosyllabic, and defeated Miss Garvice’s most skilful attempts to draw him out. D'ye hear.
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