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It resembled Mardi Gras, and she thought disdainfully of New Orleans. He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with chromatic titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also in order “to distract his mind. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. His head was small and bullet-shaped, and he did not wear a wig, but had his sleek black hair cut off closely round his temples. She was a much lighter and more frivolous person, very charming and companionable—but with a difference—a great difference.

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