He counted more on the personal attacks that they had
levelled at Shuttleworth than on the more sheerly legal aspects of the
proceedings.
Dressed, he poured himself a drink of whiskey and then went into
Gloria's room, where he found her already wide awake. She had been in
bed for a week, humoring herself, Anthony fancied, though the doctor had
said that she had best not be disturbed.
"Good morning," she murmured, without smiling. Her eyes seemed unusually
large and dark.
"How do you feel?" he asked grudgingly. "Better?"
"Yes."
"Much?"
"Yes."
"Do you feel well enough to go down to court with me this afternoon?"
She nodded.
"Yes. I want to. Dick said yesterday that if the weather was nice he was
coming up in his car and take me for a ride in Central Park--and look,
the room's all full of sunshine."
Anthony glanced mechanically out the window and then sat down upon the
bed.
"God, I'm nervous!" he exclaimed.
"Please don't sit there," she said quickly.
"Why not?"
"You smell of whiskey. I can't stand it."
He got up absent-mindedly and left the room. A little later she called
to him and he went out and brought her some potato salad and cold
chicken from the delicatessen.
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