‘A mill-stone of beastly memories!’ Gerald repeated. Then he put his hand again affectionately on Birkin’s shoulder. ‘God, you’ve got such a telling way of putting things, Rupert, you have.’

Birkin’s heart sank. He was irritated and weary of having a telling way of putting things.

‘Won’t you leave it? Come over to my place’ — he urged as one urges a drunken man.

‘No,’ said Gerald coaxingly, his arm across the other man’s shoulder. ‘Thanks very much, Rupert — I shall be glad to come tomorrow, if that’ll do. You understand, don’t you? I want to see this job through. But I’ll come tomorrow, right enough. Oh, I’d rather come and have a chat with you than —