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Updated: June 6, 2025
He rubbed his arm against Robert's softly like a young pony. "I say, let's be friends shall we?" Robert gulped and turned his head away. "All right. I don't mind." They parted shyly at the corner of Cosgrave's road a neat double file of vastly superior villas, as Robert realized with a faint sinking of the heart; but Robert did not go home.
It checked and damped down Cosgrave's excitement so that he said almost calmly: "Well, I shan't attempt to see her again. You'll have that satisfaction. I'll get out of here back to my jolly old swamp, where there aren't any beastly women decent or indecent only mosquitoes." He waited a moment, as though trying hard to finish on a warmer, more generous note.
"I suppose I suppose you're an awful swell, Stonehouse." "Not yet. I'm better at my job than a great many men who are swells. But I'm young that'll cure itself. Oh, yes I'm all right. Things have gone on coming my way. I'll tell you about it sometime." Cosgrave's eyes had rounded with their old solemn admiration. "A fashionable West-End surgeon oh, my word!
He held Cosgrave's sticky hand tight, and at that loyal understanding pressure Cosgrave began to cry, shaking from head to foot, jerking out his words between his chattering teeth. "It's s-stupid to cry I do w-wish I w-wasn't always c-crying about everything after all he c-can't kill me more than once, can he? But he's such a beast. He h-hates anyone else to h-have a good time and tell lies.
They roared past and vanished, and into the empty space of quiet there flowed back the undertones of the river, solitary footfalls, the voice of the drowsing city. The loneliness became something magical. It changed the colour of Cosgrave's thoughts. He pressed closer to his companion, and, with his elbows on the balustrade and his hands clenched in his hair, spoke in an awed whisper.
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