“Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee. “They would spoil every chance. Her thoughts were deflected from Vivie Warren by the peculiar behavior of a middle-aged gentleman in Piccadilly. Too many. There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. ” “I had to,” she repeated. "Every inch of it," replied the woollen-draper. ” 174 < 21 > THANKSGIVING She padded softly up the old stairs, exhausted and elated. “I promise, Lucy. Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. ‘For your messenger was obliged instead to come and find Hilary, and it has given me the opportunity to meet you. It’s artificially chance. As sure as he is now living, I'll pay him a visit in the Old Bailey before morning. Already the warm sun was drawing from the pines their delicious odour.
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