She met his eye for a moment in curious surprise. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. She saw herself in very much Vivie’s position—managing something. The subterranean level of the Diedermayer house was fully bedecked with every luxury known to mankind. But in the train going home her aunt reasoned it out. Gerald pressed against the wall, and signalled Roding to go to the other side of the door. She lay still for a long time, and her mind resumed at a more tolerable pace. Gerald’s gaze bored into hers.
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