Too late she realised that Emile was not trying to escape. She fluttered it with a trembling hand, averting her eyes from his, and he could hear her uneven breath behind it. After these dinners they would have a walk, usually to the Thames Embankment to see the two sweeps of river on either side of Waterloo Bridge; and then they would part at Westminster Bridge, perhaps, and he would go on to Waterloo. He seldom spoke, and drank with a persistence that was sinister. When she came to school on Friday, she almost tripped twice going up the stairs. She propped a pillow against his padded headboard and sat herself into a stiff upright position, legs expertly crossed. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road.
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