“Boiling lava was in the middle of it all, and he couldn’t lift it from the pillow, try as he might. Beer and champagne never mixed, as he ought to have known, and in spite of having lost count of the buckets he had put into himself his only need was for water to slake those fires in the middle of his globe. He couldn’t even blame Jenny – the baggage. He had loved her since she started working for the office, but naturally she wouldn’t have anything to do with an old fartbag like him, though one... or two young girls had before her. As for Kitty, his wife – well, she’s fifty-five, and acts like an old woman already, saying that the carpet they’ve just had laid (the best bloody Co-op Axminster) or the new coat he had got her from Griffin and Spalding’s in Nottingham, would see her out. I ask you! See her out! Who could live with that and not go after a bit of crumpet on the side now and again? At least if he packed her in and took up with a young woman he wouldn’t hear things like that.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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