She hoped that he would at long last remember his young male pride. ‘Jacques, do not go!’ Jack gazed steadfastly at the floor. It plucked shingles from the school building, threatening to shake them all loose one by one like rotting teeth. Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out. But his role was altered, and he was now playing the bridegroom in this remarkable drama. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. ‘Nothing. .
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