Those I don’t mind, though, the games. The blades on the top spun faster and faster. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. He was still flashily dressed, with much obvious jewellery and the shiniest of patent boots, but his general bearing and appearance had altered for the worse. Then came the javelin-men, walking four abreast, and lastly, a long line of constables, marching in the same order. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. ’ ‘It is money you mean, no?’ Melusine asked with scorn.
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