" "Alas!" cried Mrs. . “For no other reason than you talk too much. " Gently she thrust Ruth aside. The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was an invitation to sunstroke. She had found it in 1988, the year of the stock market crash. The storm burst upon them in its fury. Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. He was in misery; he was paying for last night's debauch. The fatal shower, from which he and his little charge escaped uninjured, had stricken his assailant and precipitated him into the boiling gulf.
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