She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. She had found that proof. Was he, too, on the way to the beach? What a pity! All alone, and none to warn him of the abject wretchedness at the end of Drink. She felt her skills make a belated return. Already she knew that she was overstaying her welcome. Sweet sixteen year old Shari, who never once figured out the morning sleep hangovers she suffered monthly. “I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. The rascal will be at work before the morning.
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