” Courtlaw was alarmed at the man’s pallor. She loved to walk through the gardens, graced with columns that loomed overhead. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Who’s for a rubber of whist?” Ennison made so many mistakes that he was glad to cut out early in the evening. An ugly flush stained his cheeks. The clergyman, meanwhile, proceeded with the service, while the coffin was deposited at the brink of the grave. “They are coming past our table. “Garçon,” he said, “will you ask the gentleman at the next table if he will do me the honour of taking a glass of wine with me.
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