She wanted to live. The lighting-up pierced the obscurity of the box, and Ramage stopped his urgent flow of words abruptly and sat back. He had not taken many steps when he perceived Quilt Arnold in the upper gallery, with a lamp in his hand. “I’ve brought you up some dinner, Vee,” she said. He could talk to her as frankly as he could to a man, that she would not take offence at anything so long as it was in the form of explanation. “You are coming my way,” Courtlaw answered. They WERE, she realized, acutely beautiful things. ‘She won’t. One cannot successfully argue with a drunken man. The rainstorm, short-lived, began to subside.
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