Brendon and I returned from the ‘Unusual,’ and found him lying in my room shot through the lungs. “I’ll get dressed. He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate. Now drop it. Tum, tum, tirray, tum, tum, tum, te-tum—that thing of Mendelssohn’s! If making one human being absolutely happy is any satisfaction to you—” He held out his hands, and she also stood up. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. They had been playing tennis, with his manifest intention looming over her.
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