‘You didn’t understand it any better than I. Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. ” She glared at Sebastian over the drawing table where she was sketching in chalk, then over at the fifteen year old boy who was asleep in a disheveled pile of rushes in the corner. The back of the house had been the Alps for climbing, and the shrubs in front of it a Terai. It was then for the first time she remembered that she had said nothing to her sister of the man in the hospital. ‘One of they Frenchies, that’s what I say—if it ain’t a ghost. Then she raised the glass nearer to her lips.
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