The entry of the gladiators
Howard said: ‘We all heard him coming in last night. Like the entry of the gladiators.’ I remembered more distinctly myself. There had been a light in the window of Helen’s room but I had...
The SYLE Press
Howard said: ‘We all heard him coming in last night. Like the entry of the gladiators.’ I remembered more distinctly myself. There had been a light in the window of Helen’s room but I had...
Britton and Piers were sitting opposite each other in my arm-chairs. They were talking. Britton broke off a sentence as I entered the room, and smiled his welcome before continuing with it. ‘I was saying...
It was a long time now since Lulu had offended her father by the manner of her refusal of an arranged marriage but Eugene Cartesian, whose personal fortune was well and amply secured in half...
Sitting side by side we watched her making preparations. The silence which had fallen between us had something of deliberation in it; in a way a refusal of communication. Yet it had no awkwardness. There...
Leslie said: ‘Well, it’s not surprising. The sort of mind that can kid itself it’s getting nourishment from communist slop is always likely to turn to the religious trough instead. The pigfood’s the same; it’s...
Leslie said suddenly: ‘How’s the Yank settling down?’ Lulu looked from one to the other of us in inquiry. ‘Britton,’ I explained. ‘You knew he was coming? He arrived this morning.’ She said: ‘Oh, I’ve...
Lulu was not at dinner; it was the evening for a Party caucus to be held in her room and with two or three other comrades she had set the right tone by having a...
‘What are you going to have? There’s no gin left. Sherry or rum?’ Olivia said: ‘Sherry. I can’t stand rum.’ I looked back more directly at Britton. He waved a stubby hand nervously in front...
Britton had recovered his composure; his awkward, irritating smugness. He produced his packet of Chesterfields again and passed cigarettes to us. Olivia took hers, looking at it curiously before tapping it against the back of...
Olivia said: ‘And what do you propose to do over here, Mr. Britton? Write poetry?’ Her voice had a flat, uninterested contempt. Strangely enough, it irritated me, as though her scornful lack of interest put...