"Greenacre, yes. What has he told you about me?"
Gammon answered with the simple truth; the situation alarmed him,
and he would have nothing more to do with conspiracy in such a case.
He could not feel sure that his explanations were followed and
understood; now and then the bloodshot eyes turned blankly to him as
if in a drunken dream; but in the end he saw a look of satisfaction.
"You're an honest man, aren't you? We used to know each other, you
know when. My wife likes you, doesn't she?"
"We've always been friends, of course," Gammon replied.
"Would you mind giving me the kettle?" He mixed another glass of
brandy, spilling a great deal in the process. "I don't offer you
any, Greenacre, it's medicine; I take it as such. One doesn't offer
one's friends a glass of medicine, you know, Greenacre."
"My name is Gammon."
"What am I thinking about! There was something I wanted to ask you.
Yes, of course. Does she know?"
"You mean does your wife know who you really are?" said Gammon in a
cautious voice.
"Haven't you told her?"
"Not yet.
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