his present state until he was well enough to fight his own battles in the world. Mr. Winnery would pay the expenses. Oh, yes, it would be a pleasure. He had plenty of money. And in that way they could be married at once. He implied a little sadly that he probably hadn't long to live and now that he'd found a companion that enjoyed life the way he did, he didn't want to waste any time. He told her about his house in Bloomsbury, his victoria and his brougham and his horses and his business. They would travel, he said. He'd always wanted to travel and find out about the world but he never had been able to get away from the docks, and Amanda—that was his late wife—had always made such a fuss when traveling.
She said she would speak to Mr. Blundon. She couldn't say yes or no until she found out how he took it.
When she regained the lodging house she found the room in disorder. The books were mostly lying on the floor and Mr. Blundon's precious manuscript was scattered from one end of the room to the other. There was an ominous scent of brandy in the air. At first she did not see Mr. Blundon. It was only after she had set about putting the room in order that she discovered him. He was lying half in, half out of the closet, entirely hidden by the open door. Only his feet were in view. And he was dead to the world.
She thought, "It was that first drink at the pavilion. It got 'im started again."
