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“As soon as he was in bed of an evening, he would literally writhe while he remembered how they had been together.
He grew more and more sure this whole thing was a plot, like the affair with Blundells.
So he set himself one morning in the roadway, a beggar with his stick, to have a word with Middlewitch while the man was off for lunch.
He was more and more jealous of the relations he felt certain that Middlewitch must have had with Rose, and was probably still having.
Arthur saw Charley from afar. He knew it was a nuisance, but the chap was obviously in dire trouble. What they shared of the war, that is the experiences they’d each had on their own, was a bond between them, if only of aluminium, pulleys, and elastic. He thought there was nothing for it but to take Charley along with him.
So he greeted Summers exuberantly, and Charley, with bad grace, accepted the invitation he had hoped for, finding little to say at first while this man rattled jovial, patronizing tit bits in his direction.
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