She stepped back quickly, and her hand knocked a wine-glass from the table to smash noisily on the floor. The Frenchman had moved back into Piccadilly from Down Street, at which the lad following him had immediately sauntered away a yard or two. She reeled in excitement, she unzipped his pants while kissing him, trying not to let herself stop touching him as she unclothed him. Jonathan, however, still lingered. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. Brendon,” she said, “if I could ask for advice, or borrow money from any one, I would from you—there! But I cannot. ” He was suddenly resentful. “There are some people,” he said at last, “who seem fated to carry on their shoulders the burdens of other people.
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