It Ends with Revelations Read Online Free PDF Page B

here. I just wondered.’
    ‘Well, you can stop wondering. That girl who stood here twelve years ago couldn’t have believed such luck would come her way. Funny, I was thinking about that … well,something like that, this afternoon, walking along Spa Street.’
    ‘What did you think exactly?’
    ‘It added up to the fact that I’m contented. I am, indeed. And you, Miles?’
    ‘As if you didn’t know. I still say prayers every night simply so that I can thank God for you.’
    ‘Do you say prayers? I’ve never seen you.’
    ‘Well, I think them, before I fall asleep.’
    ‘Then you must think them jolly fast, seeing how quickly you can fall asleep. And it’s time you set about it. Come on.’
    ‘I can’t say I’m looking forward to going down those steps. Almost worse than coming up.’
    ‘We can go by the road. It’s longer but one can walk fast as it’s all down hill.’
    When they were approaching the hotel, Miles said, ‘I suppose it’s too late to get any food. I could do with some, in spite of that solid dinner.’
    ‘Well, it’s five hours since you finished it. There’ll be a thermos of soup and some sandwiches in our room. I ordered them when I arranged about breakfast.’
    ‘Marvellous woman.’
    When they eventually got to bed, Jill found she could see one of the pollarded chestnuts, silvered by moonlight; both she and Miles liked to sleep with the curtains drawn back. Then she remembered coming face to face with the lion. What colour would moonlight turn his gold? Other brief memories of her day came back to her: strolling alongSpa Street, meeting Geoffrey Thornton – and then the theatre, young Cyril-Doug gazing at his photograph. How kind Miles had been about the boy! But when wasn’t Miles kind?
    She looked across at his bed. He was already asleep. The room was light enough for her to see his face clearly. She had often thought that he did not really look like himself when asleep, any more than he did in a still photograph. In absolute repose his features were almost too classical to be interesting; it was his constantly changing expression, particularly the liveliness of his eyes, which gave them charm. She wondered if an Impressionist painting could capture some of that charm. But Impressionism, she believed, was out of fashion – and, anyway, Miles disliked the idea of being painted; he was the least vain actor she had ever known. Dear Miles! She remembered his troubled expression when he asked if things had worked out for her. Never before had he seemed in need of such assurance. Why now?
    A possible explanation flickered in her mind – and no more than flickered, for she turned her thoughts away from it, both finding herself faintly distressed and knowing she had no right to be. The tiny unease dwindled. She slept.

3
Night of the Long Gloves
    Guessing they would stay late at the theatre she had given instructions that they were not to be disturbed until ten. She woke some little while before that and had time to tidy her hair, put some make-up on, and awake Miles before their breakfasts arrived. He always woke unwillingly but, within seconds, would be smiling – at her and at the prospect of a new day.
    This morning he remained relaxed until he had finished breakfast and taken a very cursory glance at a Sunday paper. Then he sprang up with a suddenness which almost brought disaster to his breakfast tray. She knew that from now on he would be mentally at the theatre – and physically, too, as soon as he could get there, and hours before his presence was needed. Nothing but the theatre would now exist for him until after the first night.
    When he had gone into their bathroom she decided tofind another, to use herself, partly to save time and also because she liked the idea of wandering about the old hotel. After walking some way along the wide corridor outside their room, she turned into a narrow passage, one wall of which had windows looking onto the hotel’s courtyard. Almost