The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. “How do you know?” “Well, it isn’t exactly a depressing state, is it?” “YOU don’t know. ” “That sounds very interesting,” she answered coolly. This time you cannot. ’ Mademoiselle, who had been nodding in agreement at Roding during the first part of this speech, abruptly turned to face Gerald again. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company.
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