She’s naïve, and yet uncannily shrewd at times, and you daren’t rely on anything she says. . “So very clear and cold,” she said. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. But days had now passed. It was her foster brother Mike, on his way to the bathroom. He came in with his hands in his trousers pockets and a general air of depression in his bearing. On a small shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a flask, labelled "Rosa Solis.
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