“Was that your girl?”
“Yes.”
“Made it up?”
“Not exactly.”
“Far better to make it up.
Shall we have some more brandy and go round to Brenda straight away?”
“Let's have some more brandy.”
“Jock, you aren't still feeling low are you?
Doesn't do to feel low.
I'm not feeling low.
I was, but I'm not any more.
“Then we'll have some brandy and then go to Brenda's.”
“All right.”
Half an hour later they got into Jock's car.
“Tell' you what, I shouldn't drive if I were you.”
“Not drive?”
“No, I shouldn't drive.
They'd say you were drunk.”
“Who would?”
“Anyone you ran over.
They'd say you were drunk.”
“Well, so I am.”
“Then I shouldn't drive.”
“Too far to walk.”
“We'll take a taxi.”
“Oh hell, I can drive.”
“Or let's not go to Brenda's at all.”
“We'd better go to Brenda's” said Jock. “She's expecting us.”
“Well I can't walk all that way.
Besides I don't think she really wanted us to come.”
“She'll be pleased when she sees us.”
“Yes, but it's a long way.
Let's go some other place.”
“I'd like to see Brenda,” said Jock. “I'm very fond of Brenda.”
“She's a grand girl.”
“She's a grand girl.”
“Well let's take a taxi to Brenda's.”
But half way Jock said,
“Don't let's go there. Let's go some other place.
Let's go to some low joint.”
“All the same to me.
Tell him to go to some low joint.”
“Go to some low joint,” said Jock, putting his head through the window.
The cab wheeled round and made towards Shaftesbury Avenue.
“We can always ring Brenda from the low joint.”
“Yes, I think we ought to do that.
She's a grand girl.”
“Grand girl.”
The cab turned down Wardour Street and then into Sink Street, a dingy little place inhabitated for the most part by Asiatics.
“D'you know, I believe he's taking us to the old Sixty-four.”