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It seemed intolerable that she should go home and admit herself beaten. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. He was as hard as a rock. From then until four in the afternoon there was nothing to do—the whole island went to sleep. ‘Don’t want it to break out bleeding again. ‘That’s what started the fracas,’ Gerald admitted ruefully, nursing his injured hand as he recalled it. ” She trailed off as the smell hit her nose.
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