It ended in _Tony_ and I being dragged into the celebration, and _that_
ended in quite a late sitting.
Tony and I lingered on for over a week at the Bat and Belfry Inn, as we
all called it, and so, strange to say, did the duodenal couple, whom,
indeed, we left there, special-dieting to their hearts' content.
THE LIE
By HOLLOWAY HORN
(From _The Blue Magazine_ and _Harper's Bazar_)
1922
The hours had passed with the miraculous rapidity which tinctures time
when one is on the river, and now overhead the moon was a gorgeous
yellow lantern in a greyish purple sky.
The punt was moored at the lower end of Glover's Island on the
Middlesex side, and rose and fell gently on the ebbing tide.
A girl was lying back amidst the cushions, her hands behind her head,
looking up through the vague tracery of leaves to the soft moonlight.
Even in the garish day she was pretty, but in that enchanting dimness
she was wildly beautiful. The hint of strength around her mouth was not
quite so evident perhaps. Her hair was the colour of oaten straw in
autumn and her deep blue eyes were dark in the gathering night.
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