“I saw him stagger and sink down, and the pistol was smoking still in my hand. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. She bolted upright as she heard footsteps rumble towards the door, cursing UPS for being so damn persistent in such foul weather. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. "Those chops, fried potatoes, and buttered toast. But she was not there.
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