expectation; then lose a couple of inches of stature as he sank into himself at the bar. ‘Well,
Soon he would vomit unassimilated miseries. Avril slept with this one, Avril slept with that one, Avril went to bed with the other one… but he loved her, loved her!
At the same time, in the
In a week they would be together again in the Bar Bacchus, squeezing hands half in love and half in loathing, exchanging glances and sighs, and snarls.
Who could say how such savage love might end? It was nothing but hate and lust, thirst for power and the desire to be hurt and to hurt! Why
Asta sighed in the middle of a yawn, or yawned in the middle of a sigh; whispered ‘Murderers, murderers,’ and fell asleep.
Mrs Kipling came down at half-past seven next morning and saw her bent over the table with her stubborn forehead in the crook of her left arm. An end of her grizzled hair was floating in a cup of cold tea, and her right hand clutched a teaspoon.
‘Tea, Kipling!’ shouted Asta, starting up.
Mrs Kipling screamed: she had thought — almost hoped — that Asta was dead.
27
At eight o’clock the first post came. The postman had to ring: one of the envelopes was too bulky to pass through the slot of the letter-box. It came from Schiff, and was stuffed with samples of carnival novelties; paper hats, coloured streamers, coiled toys designed to stretch out squeaking and tickle your neighbour, uninflated rubber balloons of unconventional patterns, red card. board noses, masks, balls of pith for throwing at people, and all kinds of amusing invitation-cards.
Near the bottom of the second page Schiff had written:
‘… To be for the present unhappy in the position to not on account of certain circumstances over which I have no control be, as I ordinarily would, in a position to gladly and with my hand on my heart as one friend to another offer you free of charge my services, gives me grief and unhappiness. My Formule I give freely and hope to, in happier circumstances over which I trust I shall have the fullest control, give more as it is in my nature to ordinarily do. I at, however, the present sad moment, am by the circumstances with grief compelled to ask Consultant Fee L5 . o . o. (Five Pounds Exactly.) The Formule, which I baptize in the name of BATTLEAXE, is as research has made clear a psychic laxative and brain-cathartic of the first order. Put on the Market it could not fail to succeed, in which case I have a cheaper formula almost equally as good as the one that I have with all possible admiration and respect pinned to this note…’
The Formule, on Page Three, was as follows:
THE FORMULE
According to Quantity, in the Following Proportion
Take 1 Bot. ORANGE CURACAO
1 Bot. VERY DRY GIN
1 Bot. MANDARIN
1/4 Bot. BRANDY
1/4 Bot. ABRICOTINE
1/8 Bot. COINTREAU
A Dash of ORANGE BITTERS.
Mix the above very thoroughly.
Now, squeeze out and carefully strain the juice of 24 fresh oranges. Mix this juice with the above Mixture, very thoroughly. Put in ice-box and freeze very cold.
WHEN READY TO SERVE:
Fill a large tumbler 5/8 (five eighths) full with the Mixture as above.
Almost fill your tumbler then with Champagne.
It need not be Vintage Champagne.
Add a slice of orange, a slice of fresh peach, a finely-cut curl of orange-peel.
Serve Bitterly Cold.
If the Formule is preferred weaker, dilute with Champagne.
I recommend ROUSPETEUR FRERES, which I can get for you at not disadvantageous prices. Many people prefer it weaker. It is argued that the Formule is better in the following proportions:
3/8 (three eighths) Mixture
5/8 (five eighths) ROUSPETEUR PRERES CHAMPAGNE
Swizzle with swizzle-stick.
This tastes like fruit-juice, and is good.
After that she opened letters from the National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to this, that, or the other.
She was tired and sad. Her thoughts were wandering … Whosoever kicks a dog kicks a man by proxy: that was her opinion. A blow-fly is an evil thing, better dead.
