You'll find her at Black Mary's Hole. Selling out of the Army to take up his inheritance had spelled boredom to Gerald Alderley. “I suppose, daddy, you’ve no objection to my going on with my work at the Imperial College?” she asked. You were with your mother, the two of you huddled like thieves, laughing at the silly women who tried to shield themselves from rain by cowering under empty baskets and shawls. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. Dunstable’s contributions to the conversation were entirely in the form of nods; whenever Alderman Dunstable praised or blamed she nodded twice or thrice, according to the requirements of his emphasis.
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