Ladies with weapon’s on ’em. ’ ‘Of course I am, imbecile,’ she snapped, unconsciously echoing her greatniece. He stood completely still as she moved her tongue up and down its shaft. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis.
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