‘We may have to,’ Gerald answered thoughtfully, staring at the window to one side. He knew that he could translate literally. “Tiffany’s?” He looked at her comically. She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones. ‘Didn’t mean to say that. ‘I can’t help but be sure,’ he returned shortly. When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge. ‘As for an heir, I have Alderley cousins enough.
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