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I
was
about
to
press
her
for
more
details
,
but
I
felt
Charles
pinching
me
,
hard
,
on
my
arm
.
I
turned
to
him
,
wincing
slightly
.
He
was
standing
right
next
to
me
.
"
What
did
one
wall
say
to
the
other
wall
?
"
he
asked
,
not
unfamiliarly
.
"
You
asked
him
that
,
"
Esme
said
.
"
Now
,
stop
it
.
"
Ignoring
his
sister
,
and
stepping
up
on
one
of
my
feet
,
Charles
repeated
the
key
question
.
I
noticed
that
his
necktie
knot
wasn
’
t
adjusted
properly
.
I
slid
it
up
into
place
,
then
,
looking
him
straight
in
the
eye
,
suggested
,
"
Meetcha
at
the
corner
?
"
The
instant
I
’
d
said
it
,
I
wished
I
hadn
’
t
.
Charles
’
mouth
fell
open
.
I
felt
as
if
I
’
d
struck
it
open
.
He
stepped
down
off
my
foot
and
,
with
white
-
hot
dignity
,
walked
over
to
his
own
table
,
without
looking
back
.
"
He
’
s
furious
,
"
Esme
said
.
"
He
has
a
violent
temper
.
My
mother
had
a
propensity
to
spoil
him
.
My
father
was
the
only
one
who
didn
’
t
spoil
him
.
"
I
kept
looking
over
at
Charles
,
who
had
sat
down
and
started
to
drink
his
tea
,
using
both
hands
on
the
cup
.
I
hoped
he
’
d
turn
around
,
but
he
didn
’
t
.
Esme
stood
up
.
'
Il
faut
que
je
parte
aussi
,
"
she
said
,
with
a
sigh
.
"
Do
you
know
French
?
"
I
got
up
from
my
own
chair
,
with
mixed
feelings
of
regret
and
confusion
.
Esme
and
I
shook
hands
;
her
hand
,
as
I
’
d
suspected
,
was
a
nervous
hand
,
damp
at
the
palm
.
I
told
her
,
in
English
,
how
very
much
I
’
d
enjoyed
her
company
.
She
nodded
.
"
I
thought
you
might
,
"
she
said
.
"
I
’
m
quite
communicative
for
my
age
.
"
She
gave
her
hair
another
experimental
touch
.
"
I
’
m
dreadfully
sorry
about
my
hair
,
"
she
said
.
"
I
’
ve
probably
been
hideous
to
look
at
.
"
