shock of confronting so many people, thus clad, Ken hesitated.
"It's because I—" he began. Then, jerkily twisting his head, he spoke to the boy:
"You're Chick De Vaughn, aren't you?" he demanded.
The boy was frightened. He turned to Alicia.
"N—n—no—no," he stuttered. "I'm Bobbie Farragut … Father," he turned to Jack.
"Get this fag out of here," Farragut said to Howard.
"Come, Ken," Howard said evenly.
Ken wakened. Legs in black silk, strip of flesh, pale pink, lace, the flimsy covering of soft bodies … He nearly collapsed.
Howard (or did he dream it?), had quarrelled with Bowler. Blows had been exchanged. Ken, unconscious, lay on the bed. When he awoke, late afternoon, he ached. The green quilt covered his body. Beneath he was still in silk. Bowler was gone. He was alone. He rose from the bed, painful limbs, dull mind. The stupor was slow to disappear.
As if held powerless by a drug, he slumped into a chair. Night fell. In utter horror, he watched the minutes pass, checked one by one on the calendar clock. Seven o'clock. Eight.
His mouth was parched. On the dresser was a bottle, another bottle of Irish.
He drank.
It was nearly midnight when he reached Great Neck. He had trudged four miles, four eternal miles, trees hovering crazily overhead, shadows threatening, sky dull as his mind.
A taxicab stood at the curb.
