Then Manning flopped back in his chair and dropped his chin like a man shot. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. ‘Parbleu, I hope that I do not have many more times to come in this way to the house,’ she muttered fretfully. “Fuck you, Julian Rimbauer. ’ Gerald sat back in his chair, thinking hard. Was he, too, on the way to the beach? What a pity! All alone, and none to warn him of the abject wretchedness at the end of Drink.
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