” “Is my sister’s Christian name, then, of so much importance to you?” she asked with a faint smile. She dragged the broken bottle across her carotid artery, creating an inch-deep gash upon her throat. Her relationship with John had made her the object of desire for scores of teenage boys who had dared not previously think of her in such a way. She had found a couple of articles about him over the years, blurbs about the opening of a theater that mentioned him. What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the divine fire was hers. Except for the dull eyes and the extreme pallor of his face, there was nothing else to indicate that he was deep in liquor. For a while he threatened her. Never really thought about Him—people don’t. To be sure, he was attentive, respectful; but in his conduct there was none of that shameless camaraderie of a man who loved his woman and didn't care a hang if all the world knew it. "Do nothing without consulting my father—your father, Thames," she implored. Servants were passing backwards and forwards with tea and chocolate. I tell you I’m Meysey Hill, the railway man.
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