“You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter. “We can,” he said, “and we will. These cogitations were interrupted by the entrance of the doctor. She stepped back quickly, and her hand knocked a wine-glass from the table to smash noisily on the floor. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. No one ate with as much passionate gusto as a teenager could. Whenever I feel particularly gregarious, I take the launch and run over to Copeley's and play poker for a couple of days. It doesn’t matter. For the sort of love-making you think about. Recovery impossible.
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