Gin or whisky? Molly asked.

Gin, she said helplessly.

She lingered, she couldn’t help it, there was a fascination in the elephants, their red and silver sides, and the howdahs stuffed with rubbish.

Those are for luck, Molly said. He left me three weeks afterwards.

Things began to happen again, perhaps a change in the gramophone, anyway, things took up where they left, you were sucked under, you perched yourself on the arm of a chair, visibly but not mentally, you revolved in the little eddies, the sticky stream, bubbles in your nose, it was the first smart of gin, or a laugh, which was a contribution to what you imagined was the Party Spirit, the man in the paper cap, he had lost his chin, the Funny Man, he bobbled the gold tassel on his cap and everybody laughed.

The springs on the sofa pinged.

Saw Alice, Kay said.

She watched. She was the slow, dark, watching type, soft and creamy, with sympathetic eyes. She watched Wally Collins with a slow, dark smile.

What about Alice? he asked.

Nothing. I just said. I’m at liberty to say I saw Alice.

You can skip Alice, he said.

He got going on the gin. He was a bit afraid, well, you couldn’t expect, and someone like the Old Girl, though what the hell in that red dress, as if she had done it to shame you, and bringing her into a joint like this. Jesus Christ, I’m crackers, he breathed. But there was always gin.

I think she’s swell, said Kay.

What?

This one. The red dress. What’s her name? Kate. I’m going over to talk to Kate.

You know how to keep off the grass, Kay?

Listen, have I been around!

But you couldn’t tell if a woman, if a sympathetic woman like Kay, oh hell, it was getting you down.

Help yourself to gin, Wally.

That’s just what I was doing, he said.

He picked his way, to trip, almost. It was Arthur Chance’s mechanic, who was almost fried. Lumped in his chair, he looked at Molly, or at one carnation waved above his face. He was small, and puny, with many moles.

One more mole and you’d fly, said Molly. Look, Collins, isn’t he sweet? He’s my baby. My real own baby. Isn’t he playful?

She popped a carnation in an open mouth. He closed his eyes.

If my baby isn’t a pain, she said. You ought to go and chase yourself.

Mrs Standish clung to her rock, her chair-arm, had tilted her head, her smile, as much as to say, now I am prepared, with the throat a sweet, harsh channel of gin swallowed too anxiously. She was very conscious of her glowing throat. It had solidity. All the rest had drifted away, sifted in a blue stream, except the two elephants, these were static, solid too.

I shall call you Kate, Kay said, smiled, the eyes closed up, then opened, too interested, too close. Now, Kate, what can I get you? A li-tle sandwidge? It was nice of you to come, Kate. I’m interested in people, of course. I’ve got to know about people. And that gives me such a lot. Ever had your horoscope done, Kate?