She had never dreamed of such decadence, never imagined that young people could be so happy and healthy. He helped himself to a beer, then a vodka and tonic, then two rum and Cokes. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. When Jack entered the cell, she was talking to herself in the muttering unconnected way peculiar to her distracted condition; but, after her eye had rested on him some time, the fixed expression of her features relaxed, and a smile crossed them. “Miss Pellissier, isn’t it?” he said.
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