I think that there is no better friend for a girl than a man rather older than herself. “Well,” she said. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. Had she too been flying from something and had accepted this method of escape? But what frying-pan could be equal to this fire? All this led him back to the original circle. They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. ‘Gérard, do not go,’ she cried, breathless. “Oh Christ! How old were you?” “Just—well, I was young.
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