Tessie Hutchinson was in the center of a cleared space by now, and she held her hands out desperately as the villagers moved in on her. ‘It isn’t fair,’ she said. A stone hit her on the side of the head.

Old Man Warner was saying, ‘Come on, come on, everyone.’ Steve Adams was in the front of the crowd of villagers, with Mrs Graves beside him.

‘It isn’t fair, it isn’t right,’ Mrs Hutchinson screamed, and then they were upon her.

The Intoxicated

He was just tight enough and just familiar enough with the house to be able to go out into the kitchen alone, apparently to get ice, but actually to sober up a little; he was not quite enough a friend of the family to pass out on the living-room couch. He left the party behind without reluctance, the group by the piano singing ‘Stardust,’ his hostess talking earnestly to a young man with thin clean glasses and a sullen mouth; he walked guardedly through the dining-room where a little group of four or five people sat on the stiff chairs reasoning something out carefully among themselves; the kitchen doors swung abruptly to his touch, and he sat down beside a white enamel table, clean and cold under his hand. He put his glass on a good spot in the green pattern and looked up to find that a young girl was regarding him speculatively from across the table.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘You the daughter?’

‘I’m Eileen,’ she said. ‘Yes.’

She seemed to him baggy and ill-formed; it’s the clothes they wear now, young girls, he thought foggily; her hair was braided down either side of her face, and she looked young and fresh and not dressed-up; her sweater was purplish and her hair was dark. ‘You sound nice and sober,’ he said, realizing that it was the wrong thing to say to young girls.

‘I was just having a cup of coffee,’ she said. ‘May I get you one?’

He almost laughed, thinking that she expected she was dealing knowingly and competently with a rude drunk. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘I believe I will.’ He made an effort to focus his eyes; the coffee was hot, and when she put a cup in front of him, saying, ‘I suppose you’d like it black,’ he put his face into the steam and let it go into his eyes, hoping to clear his head.

‘It sounds like a lovely party,’ she said without longing, ‘everyone must be having a fine time.’

‘It is a lovely party.’ He began to drink the coffee, scalding hot, wanting her to know she had helped him. His head steadied, and he smiled at her. ‘I feel better,’ he said, ‘thanks to you.’

‘It must be very warm in the other room,’ she said soothingly.