Chapter 7 Chapter Six

A few miles from Ramsdale is Forest Lake (Hourglass Lake - not spelled that way I think).I still drive there every day for a scorchingly hot week in late July.I'm now compelled to describe the last time we went swimming together on a hot Tuesday morning. We parked in a parking lot not far from the road, took a trail through the pine forest to the lake, and Charlotte talked about when Joan Farrow was looking for a backlight at five o'clock last Sunday morning (Joan is an old artist school), had seen Leslie swim in "ebony wood" (John's great phrase). "That lake," I said, "must be cold."

"That's not the point," says the logical lover. "I mean he's not quite right. And," she went on (her phrasing was beginning to tire me out), "I do get the feeling that our Louise is in love with that imbecile." Feel. "I still think Dolly is not doing very well" etc. (an old school report said). The Humberts walked on, sandals and long coats. "You know, Henry, I have a vision," said Miss Heng earnestly, bowing her head--ashamed of the vision--as if talking to the tawny woodland. "Want a real trained servant, like that German girl the Talbots said; let her sleep in the house too."

"There's no place," I said. "Why," she said, with an odd smile, "of course you underestimate the Humberts, my dear. We can put her in Lo's house. Anyway, I'm going to make it a guest room.It is the coldest and crudest in the whole house. " "What are you talking about?" I ask, the skin on my cheekbones tensing up (I bother to record this only because my daughter's skin does the same when it comes to: disbelief, disgust, resentment). "Does the Romance Society upset you?" my wife demanded -- alluding to her first compromise.

"Damn it, no," I said. "I just don't know where to put my daughter when I have guests or servants." Mrs. Humbert smiled meaningfully, raised her eyebrows and let out an "ah" at the same time, and exhaled lightly. "Little Luo, fear is out of the question, not at all. She can go straight from the camp to a strict religious boarding school. And then - to Beardsley University. I've got it all planned out." ,You do not have to worry about." She, Mrs. Humbert, went on to say that she had to overcome her habitual sloth and write to Miss Phelan's sister who taught at San Algebra.The bright lake water is a problem.I said I forgot my sunglasses in the car and caught up in a while.I always thought that shaking hands was a gesture in novels—perhaps the result of some medieval ritual; but when I went into the trees, driven by thoughts of disappointment and despair, I used this gesture ("Look, God, look This chain!"), which expresses my state of mind silently and most aptly.

If Charlotte had been Valeria, I'd know how to deal with the situation; "cope" was just the word I wanted.In the past, all I had to do was twist Vallechka's fat, fragile wrist (the one I had broken from a bicycle fall) to instantly change her mind; but with Charlotte, it was instinctive.Gentle American Charlotte blew me away.The comforting dream of trying to use her love for me to control her was all wrong.I didn't dare to act rashly, lest I destroy the image of me that she had built up for worship.I flattered her when she was my lover's formidable nanny, and something of the subservient remains stubbornly in my attitude towards her.The only thing I have the upper hand on is my love for her lo-freaky she doesn't know yet.Lo liked that I pissed her off; but my feelings she couldn't guess.To Valeria I can say: "Look at you stupid fellow, it's up to me to decide what's good for Dolores Humbert." To Charlotte I can't even say (in a flattering and calm tone) : "Excuse me, dear, I disagree. Let's give the child another chance. Let me be her private tutor for a year or so, Mian once said to me about yourself--" Actually, if you don't sacrifice yourself , about that child, I can tell Shaget anything.Oh, you can't imagine (as I never imagined), what these women of principle are like! Charlotte is so blind to the fallacies of all the rules and regulations of everyday conduct, food, books, and people she dotes on; But when I say anything with the intention of getting close to Lo, she immediately picks out the wrong tone of voice. She's like a musician, ordinarily probably a tiresome brute with neither wit nor wit. But for music, she can hear a certain sound with accurate judgment. To break Charlotte's wish, she must first break her heart. Breaking her heart, my image in her heart also If I say, "Either Lolita and I can do whatever we want and you keep it a secret for me, or we'll separate immediately," she'll turn pale as if under a fuzzy quilt, and slowly reply, "Okay Well, whatever you say or take back, this is the end." That's the end.

That's the mess that was then.I remember reaching the parking lot, taking a handful of the rust-smelling water and gulping it greedily, as if it would give me miraculous wisdom, youth, freedom, and a concubine.I was dressed in purple, and I sat for a while at a rough long table under a ostentatious pine tree, shaking my feet; a little far away, two girls in shorts and corsets, from the sunlit toilet marked "female" come out.Gum-chewing Mabel (or Mabel's double) laboriously and nonchalantly crosses the dirt bike; Marion, tossing his hair to fend off flies, sits in the back, legs apart; they waddle, slowly, erratically Melting into the sun and shade.Lolita!Father and daughter blend into the woods!The natural solution was to get rid of Mrs. Humbert.But in what way?

No one can plan a clean murder; but, chance, it can. Near the end of the last century, in Arles in the south of France, there was a famous judgment of Madame Lacourt.Not long after the woman married Colonel Drakour, an unidentified six-foot-tall bearded man, later presumed to be her beau, walked up to her in a busy street and punched her in the back Three punches, the short colonel with a face like a bulldog hangs upside down on the arm of the assailant.In a truly miraculous coincidence, just as the man was about to let go of his exasperated young husband's jaw (several onlookers crowded around them), a irascible Italian came from the nearest A kind of explosive that he was tinkering with was thrown from the house, and in an instant, the street was full of uproar, sand and stones were flying, and the crowd ran away.The explosion hurt no one (except the brave Colonel Lacourt, which knocked unconscious); and the woman and her vengeful lover ran off with the others--lived happily ever after.

Let's see what would happen if the perpetrators themselves conspired an eradication plan. I will list Hourglass Lake.The place where we and nine other "couples" (the Farlows, the Chatfields) bathed was a cove; my Charlotte liked it because it was almost like a "private beach".The main bathing facility (or "shower facility," as the Ramsdale Daily Journal calls it), is to the left (east) of Hourglass Lake, out of sight from our cove.To our right, the band of pine trees soon gave way to a curving swamp beyond which was wooded. I sat silently beside my wife, so she spoke first.

"Shall we go down?" she asked. "Wait one more minute while I continue my train of thought." I meditated, and a minute passed. "Okay, come on". "Am I on your train of thought?" "certainly." "I hope so," said Charlotte, walking into the lake.Soon her thick legs were covered with goosebumps; then, with her hands outstretched and her mouth tightly shut, her face under the black rubber cap very calm, Charlotte leaped forward, splashing a huge splashes. We slowly swam into the sparkling water. On the opposite bank, at least a thousand paces away (if anyone could walk across water), I could make out the tiny figures of two men working their shores like sea otters.I knew exactly who they were: a retired policeman from Poland, and a retired plumber who owned most of the lumber across the lake.I also know that they are busy building a dock for their idle pleasure.The knocking we heard seemed much louder than the dwarf's arms and tools could be discerned; indeed, one could almost guess that the maker of these high-pitched effects must have been at loggerheads with his puppet stringers, especially since Every heavy knock fell behind the scene.

A small white sandy beach on "our" coast--where we went into the deep water--was always empty on Saturday mornings.There was no one around, except for the two busy chattering figures on the opposite side, and a crimson private jet buzzing overhead before disappearing into the depths of the blue sky.This background is perfect for a frothy matchmaking plan, and what's more subtle: a law enforcement officer and a water diverter are close enough to witness the unfortunate accident, but far away, they can't see that it is a crime.They could well hear a deranged bather rolling up and down and crying out for people to come and save his drowned wife; but they were too far away to tell (if they happened to look at once) that it was the deranged bather trampled on his wife.But I'm not there yet; I'm just trying to show how easy it was to act and how wonderful the circumstances were!Charlotte swam dutifully there (she was a very ordinary swimmer), not without serious pleasure (for wasn't she surrounded by her swimmers?); Writing a memoir with pure sobriety seeing (you know - just looking at things and trying to think you'll remember seeing them later) her wet smooth pale face still only a little tanned despite all my best efforts , Seeing her pale lips, her bare forehead, and tight black hat, and the jade neck with water under the hat, I knew that all I needed to do was jump out again, take a deep breath, and grab her ankles , and quickly dived down with the body of my captive.I say dead because the startle, panic, and inexperience would instantly inhale a gallon of lake water and kill me instantly, while I was able to hold my eyes open for at least a full minute underwater.This cruel action is like a falling meteor sweeping the dark night of conspiracy and crime.Like a terrifying silent ballet, the hero grabs the heroine's feet and gallops away in the water-like twilight.While pulling her down, I can also float up to get a breath, and then dive in as many times as I need, and I can only call for help when the curtain falls on her.In about twenty minutes the two puppets would come steadily in their half-painted rowboat, but poor Mrs Humbert, the victim of cramps or coronary obstruction or both, was already hanging upside down in the hourglass lake. On a patch of dark blue ooze thirty feet below the surface of the rippling water.

It's so easy, isn't it?But you know, people -- I just can't do it! She swam next to me, a loyal and clumsy seal, all emotional reasoning screaming in my ear: Now is the time!But, people, I just can't!Silently I turned to the shore, and she turned lumberingly, dutifully, and hell, the advice still screamed, and I, still couldn't bear to drown the poor, naked, bony creature.The screaming died away when I realized the sad fact that I couldn't kill her tomorrow, or Friday, or any other day or night.Oh, I can see myself punching Valeria's breasts or otherwise hurting her in a random way - and I can just as clearly see myself punching her lover's belly and making him go "Wow!" She sat down.But I couldn't kill Charlotte -- especially when things weren't perhaps quite as hopeless as the first flinching that sad morning.If I catch her strong, kicking feet; if I see her frightened face, hear her frightful cry; if I follow through on my plan, her dead spirit will haunt me for the rest of my life.If this had been 1447 instead of 1947, I might have defied my mild nature and given her the classical poison of a false onyx, a soft death potion.But in our rambunctious middle-class age, the effect is certainly not as successful as it was in the flowery courts of yesteryear.Today, you have to be a scientist if you want to be a murderer.No, no, I am neither. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, most sex offenders who crave thrilling sweet complaints, physical relations with girls but not necessarily intercourse, are deviant, passive, cowardly freaks who demand nothing more than society They are allowed to pursue their harmless, so-called out-of-the-ordinary behaviors, their deviant small, hot, wet and secret sex acts, without being severely sanctioned by the police and society. We are not sex maniacs!We never raped like those good soldiers did.We are unhappy, brooding but refined gentlemen, completely in control of our impulses in the presence of grown-ups, but willing to give years and years of our lives for the chance to stroke a nymphet.It should be emphasized that none of us were murderers.Poets never murder.oh!My poor Charlotte, in the eternal alchemy of asphalt and rubber and metal and stone—thank God, not water, not water! --you don't hate me in your eternal heaven. In any case, it is quite objective to say that the escape is quite thrilling.Now notice the crux of my ideal crime. We sat on towels in the thirsty sun.She looked around, then let go of her bra, turned and lay down, giving her back something to enjoy.She said she loves me.Take a deep breath. She reached into her pocket for a cigarette.She sat up, lit her cigarette, and looked over her right shoulder.She kissed me hard with her wide, smoky mouth.Suddenly, from the bushes and pine forests on the sandy beach behind us, a pebble was thrown, and then another. "These nasty nosy kids," Charlotte said, grabbing her big bra and putting it on, turning sideways again. "I'm going to tell Peter about it, Krestowski." There was a rustle at the intersection, and there was a sound of footsteps. Joan Farrow came over with her easel and other things. "You startled us," Charlotte said. Joan said she was there just now, doing a reconnaissance out of nature in a green covert (detectives always get shot), trying to paint a lake scene, but there was no way, she had no talent at all (it was true )--"Have you ever tried to draw, Humbert?" Charlotte, somewhat jealous of Joan, wonders if John is coming. he came.He went home for lunch today.He had left her on the road to Parkington, and might come to pick her up any moment.It was a perfect morning.She always felt that there was a treason who had betrayed Kaval and Merampus, bound them up on such a glorious day.She sat on the white sand between me and Charlotte.She is wearing shorts.Her long brown legs, like the belly of a sorrel mare, fascinated me. When she laughed, she showed the gum in her mouth. "I almost put you both in the lake I drew," she said, "and I even caught your oversight. You (referring to Humbert) went into the water with a watch, yes sir, you did ." "Waterproof," Charlotte said softly, mouthing like a fish. Joan took my wrist into her lap, inspected Charlotte's gift, and placed Humbert's hand back on the sand, palm up. "You can see everything now," said Charlotte sourly. Joan sighed. "I saw once," she said, "two little children, a boy and a girl, right here when the sun went down, making love. Their shadows were huge. I told you about Mr. Thomson at first light.Next time I look forward to seeing fat old Ivor in cream.He was so whimsical, that man.Last time he told me a nasty story about his nephew.It's like—""Hello," John's voice said. I was accustomed to be silent when I was unhappy, or rather, my unhappy silence had that grim, vile quality which used to frighten Valeria into helplessness.She would always start with a little sob and then a wail, saying, "The thing that drives me crazy is I don't know what you're thinking when you're here like this." I've tried being silent with Charlotte too - and she just chirps or giggles at my silence.What a strange woman!So I retreated to my old room, which is now a standard "study," muttering in a low voice that I still had a scholarly tome to write after all; and Charlotte went on beautifying her home, writing a few letters, Or pick up the phone and sing softly.From the window, through the quiver of the painted aspen leaves, I could see her cross the street, content to post a letter to Phelan's sister. The week since my last visit to the still sands of Hourglass Lake has been the most starry and cloudy, the most depressing that I can remember. Then finally there were two or three vaguely hopeful rays of light -- before the sun was fully in or out. It occurs to me that in good working order, I have a nimble brain, and I should probably put it to good use.If I dare not intervene in my wife's plans to deal with her daughter (who is getting hotter and darker every day under a hopelessly bright sky), I must be able to think of a suitable way to protect myself. The method may lead to a special opportunity in the future.Charlotte herself offered me an outlet one night. "I have something to surprise you," she said, eyeing me wide, raising a spoonful of soup in her hand. "In the fall, we'll both go to England." I swallowed the contents of my spoon in one gulp, wiped my lips with pink napkin (oh, that's the proof that Mira cans need it) and said: "I have a surprise too, my dear, that we're not going to England." "Why, what's the matter?" she asked, watching--the surprise was worse than I expected--my hand ( I subconsciously folded, tore, flattened, and tore that innocent pink dinner paper).But my smiling face somehow reassured her. "It's very simple," I replied. "Even in the best families, like ours, not all decisions are made by the woman. Some things should be decided by the husband. I can imagine a healthy American woman like you, meeting with Bumble Madame -- or frozen meat king Samuel Bumble, or a Hollywood slut crossing the Atlantic on the same ship, would be delighted. I have no doubt that when we look at -- you, frank eyes , me, control my jealous envy - watching the Palace Sentinel or the Red Sentinel or the Sea Otter Eater or whatever gets filmed, you and I will definitely make the most beautiful ad for the tour company. But it just so happens that I hate Europe, including old happy England. You know very well that all I have is a sad connection to the old and corrupt world. Those colorful advertisements in your pictorial papers are of no avail." "Honey," said Charlotte, "I really--" "No, wait. The situation at hand is purely accidental. I care about general tendencies. When you want me to ignore work and spend the whole afternoon by the lake basking in the sun , for you I'd gladly obey, and be a blond little black boy for you, instead of being a scholar and, how should I say, an educator. When you take me to play bridge and drink with the lovely Fallows, I've always been happy to oblige, too. No, please wait. When you decorate your home, I don't interfere with your plans. When you decide—when you decide everything, I may be against it in whole or in part—but Never a word of complaint. I can ignore individual things. But I can't ignore general tendencies. I like being directed by you, but there are rules to any game. I'm not angry. I'm not angry at all. Don't do that again.I am also half of the family, and my voice is small but clear. " She came over to me, knelt down, shook her head slowly but very hard, and grabbed my pants.She said she never thought of it.She said I was her ruler, her God.She said Louise was gone, let's have sex now.She said I had to forgive her or she would die. This little accident filled me with pride.I told her softly that it was a matter of not asking for forgiveness, but of changing one's ways; and I resolved to take advantage of the situation to be cold and gloomy, and to spend a considerable time just writing—or at least pretending to be working. The "working bed" in my original house has long since become the sofa that haunts my heart. Charlotte has reminded me since we lived together that the room should be changed into a standard "writer's den". Two days after the "British Incident," I was sitting in a new, comfortable chair with a large volume on my lap when Charlotte knocked on the door with her ring finger and strolled in.How different her posture is from my Lolita, when she used to come to see me in dirty blue jeans, she always smelled like a nymphet; the bottom button of her shirt was always open, Scary and maddening, with a hint of evil.However, let me tell you.Behind Little Haze's rudeness and Big Haze's poise flowed shyness, they had the same taste, the same low voice.A great French physician once remarked to my father that in close relatives the faintest "sound" of the stomach is the same. Charlotte walked in just like that.She felt that everything was wrong between us.Yesterday and last night we pretended to be asleep as soon as we went to bed, and woke up at dawn. She gently asked me if she was "excuse me". "Not at this moment," I said, turning to volume three of Girls' Encyclopedia to examine a painting that the artist called "The Hip World." Charlotte walked over to a mock mahogany desk with a drawer.She put her hand on it, and the little table was ugly, no doubt, but not in her way. "I always wanted to ask you," she said (as if in business, not at all coquettish), "what's the matter with the lock? Do you want it in the house? You look so stupid." "Leave it alone," I said.I'm "looking forward to camping in Scandinavia". "Have a key?" "It's hidden." "Oh, Henry..." "The love letter is locked." She gave me the look of a wounded doe, which annoyed me, and then, not knowing if I was serious or how to continue the conversation, she stood there again.I slowly read through the pages (campus, Canada, compact camera, candy) as she stares at Poli raptly, beating it with her sharp apricot-yellow and rose-colored nails. Now (I saw "Canoeing" and "Mallard"), she moved to my chair, sat down heavily on the armrest, and immediately put the scent of my first wife's usual perfume on me. I'm drowning. "Would you like to spend autumn here, sir?" she asked, pointing with her little finger to an autumn scene in a conservative "Oriental State". "Why?" (very clear and steamy).She shrugged. (Maybe Harold used to go on vacation around that time. Open season, reflex to her.) "I think I know where that is," she said, still pointing. "I remember a hotel, The Enchanted Hunter, weird, isn't it? The food was really beautiful. And it didn't interfere with each other." She rubbed her cheek against my temple.Valeria quickly returned to normal. "Would you like something special for dinner, dear? John and Joan will be here in a minute." I grunted in reply.She kissed my lower lip, said briskly that she was going to make a cake (tradition since I rented the room, because I admired her cakes), and then left me alone in the room. I carefully placed the open book where she had sat (the book tried to flip the sea, but the protruding pencil stopped it), and I checked where the key was hidden: it was well behaved, still lying there. Underneath the expensive safety razor; I used to have this old one until she got me a better, cheaper one.Is this a sure-fire hiding place--under the blade, in that velvet-covered slot?The box comes in a box that holds my various work papers. What else can I improve?Obviously, how hard it is to hide things - especially when one's wife keeps her eyes on the piece of furniture. I remember that it was a week after our last swim that at noon the postman delivered Miss Phelan's second reply.The woman wrote that she had just returned to Santa Albra from her sister's funeral. "It's been a lot different since Euphemia broke her hipbone." As for Mrs. Humbert's daughter, she wanted to inform that it was too late to enroll this year; however, the surviving Phelan was fully convinced that if Mrs. Humbert could bring Dolores there in January, her admission would be ok. Done. The next day, after lunch, I went to see "our" doctor, a very friendly guy whose clinical attitude towards some proprietary narcotics and his total reliance on them just showed his love for medicine Scientific ignorance and disregard. The fact that Brandon will have to return to Ramsdale is a treasure trove of hope.For this I have to be fully prepared.In fact, after Charlotte's cruel decision, I had already entered my program early; I had to make sure that the night of my lovely baby's arrival, and night after night, until Santa Algebra put the Until she takes me away, I can find a way to make the two beauties fall into a deep sleep, and no sound or touch can wake them up.During most of July, I experimented with various sleeping pills, and I used Charlotte, a great drug eater, as an experiment.The last dose I gave her (she thought it was a sedative - oiling her nerves), knocked her unconscious for a solid four hours.I turned up the volume on the radio and put a huge bait light on her face.I pushed her, pinched her, poked her -- but nothing could stop the rhythm of her calm, powerful breathing.However, whenever I do something as simple as kiss her, she wakes up like an octopus alive (I run away in a hurry).Not this one, I thought; there must be something safer.At first, Dr. Byron didn't seem to believe me when I told him that the medicine he had given me last time for my insomnia was of no help.He suggested I try again, then showed me pictures of his family to distract me.He had a charming child, and Dolly's age; but I saw through his tricks, and insisted on some of the strongest medicines available.He suggested I play golf, but at last agreed to give me some, which, in her words, were "incomparably potent"; and went to another cabinet, and took out a small bottle of bluish-purple capsules with a black-purple band at the end, and said, It's new, and it's not for neurotics who can be calmed with a sip of water; it's for artists who can't sleep, and who have to die for hours before living hundreds of years.I love to fool dorky doctors who, despite my heart's content, shrug my shoulders incredulously as I pocket the pills.Besides, I must be very careful with him. I remember seeing him convulse at the tip of his ear one time when I foolishly slipped up to mention the nursing home I ended up in.Since Charlotte or anyone else didn't know about my days past, I stammered and explained that I'd done some research among psychopaths for a novel, but it didn't matter; of course the old villain had a sweet daughter. I took my leave with high spirits.Holding my wife's car with one finger, I drove home contentedly.Ramsdale was, after all, alluring.The cicadas are singing; the street has just been sprinkled with water.With good wind, I drove up our steep little road almost smoothly.I don't know how everything went well that day.The sky is so blue and the trees are so green.I know the sun is shining brightly because my ignition plug is reflected in the windshield; I also know it is three-thirty because the nurse who massages Miss Opposite every afternoon is wearing white socks and white shoes in the narrow room. Walk briskly on the sidewalk.As usual, the hysterical jonker came at me as I drove down the hill: also, as usual, Kenny had just dropped the local newspaper on the front porch. The day before, I had given up the deliberate indifference of the rules of life.Now I open the living room door and happily say my homecoming.Charlotte, with her jade-coloured nape and bronze sweetbread facing me, was wearing the same yellow blouse and maroon loafers when I first saw her, sitting at a corner desk writing a letter. With my hand still on the doorknob I repeated my heartfelt cheer.Her writing hand stopped.Sitting still for a moment; then she turned slowly in her chair and rested her elbows on the curved back.Her face was ugly with emotion, and it was horrific when she stared at my legs and began to say: "Haze woman, big bitch, old cat, mother to be punished, this... Old and stupid Haze is no longer the object of your teasing.She's already...she's been..." My righteous accuser fell silent, swallowing her resentment and tears. Whatever Humbert Humbert said - or tried to say - was unnecessary.She continued: "You're a beast. You're a loathsome, abominable, heinous liar. Come here—I'll call out the window. Go back!" Likewise, I think whether H. H．Whispering anything can be omitted. "I'm leaving tonight. It's all yours. Only you'll never, ever see that poor stinky little girl again. Get out of this room." Reader, I did that.I went upstairs to the half-shabby study.With hands on hips, calmed down and regained composure, he stood for a moment, saw the robbed small table from the door, the drawer was wide open, a key was hung in the keyhole, and the other four keys were spread out on the table.I walked down the hallway on the top floor into the Humberts' bedroom and calmly transferred my diary from under her pillow and put it in my pocket.Then I walked downstairs and stopped halfway: she was talking on the phone, which was just outside the living room door.I want to hear what she's talking about: what item she ordered and went back to the living room.I adjusted my breathing again and walked down the hall and into the kitchen.I open a bottle of scotch.She had never been able to resist the lure of whiskey.I went into the dining room and saw Charlotte's broad back through the half-open door. "You're ruining my life and yours by doing this," I said quietly. "Let's be reasonable. It's all your hallucination. You're crazy, Charlotte. Those notes you found were just fragments of a novel. Your and her names were just a coincidence. Because they It's handy. Think about it. I'll get you a drink." She neither answered nor turned away, but just kept scribbling rapidly, not knowing what she was writing.About the third letter (two already in stamped envelopes on the table).I went back to the kitchen again. I pull out two glasses (for San Algebra? For Lo?).After taking the ice cubes out of the freezer, it growled roughly at me.Write it again.Ask her to re-read it.She won't remember details.Alter, forge.Write a snippet, show it to her, or just throw it away.Why is the long beeping of the tap sometimes so scary?It's a dire situation, really.Ice cubes shaped like little pillows -- the stuffed polar bears' pillows, Lowe said -- died away the rasp, crackle and torture when warm water poured into their dens rescued them.I put the cups side by side.Infused with whiskey and a dash of soda.She forbids me to stir with a needle.There was a ping, bang, bang in the ice box.I crossed the dining room with my glass, and came to the drawing-room door, which was only ajar so I could not get my elbow in, and through it I said: "I've brought you a drink." No answer, crazy bitch, so I put the glass on the sideboard next to the phone when it rang. "I'm Leslie. Leslie Thomson," said Leslie, who likes to go for a swim at dawn.Thomson said, "Mrs. Humbert has been run over. You'd better come at once, sir." I replied, perhaps a little grumpily, that my wife was safe and sound, while holding the receiver in one hand, pushing open the door and saying: "This man said you were run over, Charlotte." But Charlotte wasn't in the living room.