" Ruth laughed. 48 <6> THE FRIDAY NIGHT SHOW The air was chill and the sky overcast and misting. She had killed him. “Why didn’t you come back? Lucy, I needed you to come back, just once. All men are bloody fucking hypocrites. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. On your own. He sees men all defiled by coarse thoughts, coarse ways of living cruelties. She fought the inclination for a while, then surrendered. But I do not love you. She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace. Faugh!” She took up the last morsel of roll, and held it delicately between her long slim fingers.
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