"An idea has just occurred to me," said Gay, "which Jack's narrative has suggested. Thames Darrell MUST die. They are used to me, they only cry because they have become so used to being here. There was also a curious interview at a big hotel with a middle-aged, white-powdered woman, all covered with jewels and reeking of scent, who wanted a Companion. I am having them to my own soirée on Monday. “Hand me the Jergens lotion, will you? How’d it go with John?” She asked. I can pull the strings of this stiff-necked puppet as I please. No more did she offer her forehead for the good-night kiss. His hand traveled below her loose neckline, and he cupped her round breast in his hand.
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