When he came out into the street again he knew that he was half
drunk--not so drunk that he didn't know what he was doing. Oh dear,
no. HE could drink any amount without feeling it. Nevertheless he
had drunk so little during these last weeks that even a drop . . .
How foggy the streets were . . . made it difficult to find your way
home. But he was all right, he could walk straight, he could put his
latch-key into the door at one try, HE was all right.
He was at home again. He didn't stop to hang up his hat and coat but
went straight into the dining-room, leaving the door open behind
him. He saw that the meal was still on the table just as they'd left
it. Amy was there too.
He saw her move back when he came in as though she were afraid to
touch him.
"You're drunk!" she said.
"I'm not. You're a liar, Amy. You've always been a liar all your
life."
She tried to pass him, but he stood in the middle of the door.
"No, you don't," he said. "We've got to have this out. What have you
been spreading scandal about me and Maggie Cardinal for?"
"Let me go," she said again.
"Tell me that first.
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