He had been standing, but now she rose to her feet and led him to the divan.
Poor Bunny.
I wish I'd never seen her!
Bunny! Don't forget the music she made you write!
I don't give a damn about that! I can't do it any more. I'm no good at all now. It's all gone . . . with her. If I only had her back!
Campaspe changed the subject abruptly: What's Paul doing? He hasn't been near me.
Harold's father sent him another cheque; so he's happy. All he needs, for happiness, Bunny added bitterly, is money. Drains received a cheque, too, and he's gone off with the Duke.
Back to Ronald.
Everybody goes back to Ronald, Bunny remarked with some resentment. He bought a bulldog before he left town, he continued inconsequentially.
Whatever will he do with it?
Campaspe's mind reverted to the dog-fight in the garden. There was a moment's silence, during which she gazed intently at the Rousseau. Bunny's expression was most lugubrious.
A perfectly divine tiger! she repeated at last, as if speaking to herself.
'paspe, I don't believe you've been listening!
. . . heard every word.
Do you know what Zimbule is doing?
