It was she who had come out from the flat only a few minutes before. Whisky kills him suddenly; it does not sap him gradually. it’s open. Lucy had passed the house once on the sidewalk, on a rare day when he was shoveling snow. Gerald did not know who she was, but he knew who she was not. His shoulders relaxed and his gaze wavered. The big gray spaces of London, the shop-lit, greasy, shining streets, had become very remote; the biological laboratory with its work and emotions, the meetings and discussions, the rides in hansoms with Ramage, were like things in a book read and closed.
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